


Ithildin

by ElvenQueenofErynGalen (Veladryssa)



Series: Thranduil's Starlight [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Betrothal Feast, Betrothal Necklace, Betrothal Rings, Cold thranduil, Confusion, Dark Magic, Dwarves, Elves, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends with Legolas, Friends with Tauriel, Friendship/Love, Hobbits, Hostage Situations, Hostile, I just love Thranduil, I'm a slut for Thranduil, Internal Conflict, Kidnapping, Kind Thranduil, Magic Revealed, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mentally growing up, Murder, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-canon period, Past Torture, Personal Growth, Possibly Unrequited Love, Reuniting, Sauron Being an Asshole, Sauron's a fucking creep, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Smut, Snarky Elves, Teasing, The smut will be gratuitous once it comes, Those dead in one world may be alive in the other, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Time is altered between worlds, Torture, Trauma, Triggers, Understanding, Weddings, When I say slow burn I mean sloooooooooow burn, Wizards, Y'all knew it was coming, Yearning, compassion - Freeform, dom!thranduil, mental barriers, non-canon elements, slut for elves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 155,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veladryssa/pseuds/ElvenQueenofErynGalen
Summary: When a girl from the modern world gets thrown in Middle Earth, she's being chased by a pack of orcs on the backs of wargs. She happens to be running through the very forest of Mirkwood, in the realm of the Great Elvenking, Thranduil. Things are not as they seem, however. The girl is half-elven, part human, and... part faerie? She can recall nothing other than running when she is thrown at the feet of the king himself, relying on his mercy, but... the king is a suspicious sort, and offers her a deal- to serve him by any means necessary, and she keeps her life. This story is totally non-canon and will have a lot of non-canon elements, forewarning!
Relationships: Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s), Tauriel/Original Male Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Thranduil's Starlight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102214
Comments: 41
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

Branches clawed and scraped at her face as Sara bolted through the trees, unsure which direction was which. Fear coiled and knotted through her, propelling her to move faster despite her growing exhaustion, hearing the ravaging howls and warcries behind her. She was being hunted. Monstrous things atop large wolves carrying brutish weapons that seemed as though they were forged carelessly, swinging them at her without mercy. “Help! Somebody please! Help me!” Her screams were ragged and hoarse, scraping her palm against the bark of one of the trees before she’d tripped over an exposed root, tumbling to the ground. Her head impacted against earth and long dead twigs, softening the blow. The cries had become louder, the things were getting closer. _Up. Get up!_

Sara pulled herself forward as she pushed up to her feet, dodging and weaving through the forest to reach its heart, hoping she would, but never once caught the sound of the rustling in the trees, never saw the eyes on her. Her shirt was torn, her arm bloody, and as she turned around another tree, felt the sharp shove of something pointed and rough in her back, throwing her into the tree as if she were no more than a piece of meat. Her skull hit, directly against the temple, and she slumped as her vision wavered. Hot fluid swam down the side of her face as she hobbled to get away, the ominous laughter around her sealing her fate. One of the monstrosities had pushed her to her knees. She was surrounded, yelping as the oversized wolves snapped at her to keep her from fleeing. 

One of the things dismounted, swinging a crude axe and grinned, yellowed tusks coated in saliva. She gagged, backing away, but the snapping of the wolves resumed and she became rigid, panting in short bursts. As she stared in terror at the thing, hearing it speak something but didn’t understand, tears fell from her eyes. She didn’t notice, but her tears only seemed to thrill the things around her, just before the shouts above were heard. Startled, her head snapped to the sound, as did the things surrounding her. The one before her shouted something else, quickly mounting his wolf again, but the girl only saw brief flashes in the trees, unsure of what lay above but remained on her knees, grateful for whoever it was. 

As the adrenaline spiked within her, the ache in her skull began to throb, stabbing pains disorienting as she crawled to get to her feet. Sara could hear shouts, cries of victory, weapons clashing, but the noise only made her wish to flee further, or to close her eyes. The fighting didn’t last long, and when it was over, she thought she’d gone deaf. That was until rustling was heard moving closer to her. Sara whimpered, backed against a tree, but found… people? Men and women, long hair on each of them, dressed in a way she’d never seen before. They were speaking to one another, pointing at her. One crouched in front of her, hair the palest shade of gold she’d ever seen, and tilted her head up. Still, she didn’t understand what they were saying. 

“Am I dying?” She rasped, chest heaving. The man released her chin, gesturing for someone. This one possessed hair of rich chocolate and had broad shoulders, lifting her effortlessly. All she could do was whimper, eyes finally closing as the pain became too much to bear. 

* * *

Unconscious for less than a week, her eyes opened under an open sky, stars shimmering bright as a fire crackled close by. A pained cry left her, turning on her side and hissed, every part of her in knots. Something was pressed to her lips, someone speaking to her. It took a moment after grabbing the wrist of the person for her to understand what he’d said. “Drink, it’ll help until we get out of here.” Not believing she had much of a choice, the girl drank, wincing as it went down. “Ay, Legolas, she rises!” Sara lay her head down again, eyebrows knitting together. Legolas? No… It was then that same shade of pale blonde, now reflecting the moon, hovered over her, his face analyzing. “Why have you come here? What is your purpose?” Her own hazel became bewildered then, breaths short with the pain still coursing through her. “Wh-what?”

He seemed irritated, angry with her, and she didn’t know why. She’d read the Tolkien books, how was it possible she’d landed in Middle Earth, in front of _the_ Legolas? So that meant… her rescuers were elves. They were _tall_ , did that mean… Her gaze drifted to her feet, then felt her face. No extra hair or anything prominent, so she was neither hobbit nor dwarf, then… “I’ll ask you again,” he sighed in aggravation. “Why have you come? What are you?” Her breath shook, and out of impatience, Legolas harshly turned her head aside and moved her hair, tugging her ear. “Ah! What are you talking about!?” Her head moved to free herself, but just the slightest grip was unbearably strong, and just as fast as he’d grabbed her, he let her go. “You have these ears that resemble ours, but far smaller. You’ve no hairy, large feet or hair anywhere beyond your head that we’ve seen. So, I’ll ask one last time, since you seem impossibly thick, what are you?” 

She didn’t know how any of it was possible, but she was before Legolas himself, being interrogated by him as to what she was. Sara whimpered, withdrawing, but the elf clutched her arm in a painful grip. “Perhaps, if you will not answer me, you will answer my father.” Her stomach sank. Thranduil, the elven king of the forest… that’s where they were taking her? Her eyes stung and she rapidly shook her head. “P-Please, I… I don’t know where I am- I’m lost! I just know I was being chased by… by something on those wolves and-” Laughter sounded around her, one of them shouting to Legolas in Elvish, but the prince only hardened his features. “You cannot sit there and tell me you didn’t know those things were orcs on the backs of wargs?” Immediately, she shook her head. “N-No, I… I swear!” 

Sara was sobbing, the pain excruciating as she tried to explain. “I didn’t know… I just want to go h-home…” Something flashed over the prince’s eyes and he stood abruptly, shoulders drawn back. “That is not up for me to decide, half-breed. You will await judgement like any other invader of my father’s kingdom.” Invader?! Her body wracked furiously as she curled on herself, her cries silent but wrenching, and she blacked out once more from her injuries. When she woke, there was forest all around them, so impossibly rich in varying hues of green and flowers littering the area, but before them lay a magnificent castle, elaborate in every part of the structure, its decor resembling something ancient, yet impossibly new. Sara began to squirm, knowing the first stop was to visit the cold-hearted king she’d read about, the one she feared, and the elf carrying her took her arm, dragging her in the castle. 

Legolas entered first, and Sara could hear him speaking with another whose voice was deeper, filled with a richness, and already, she knew it was the king. “ _Ada,_ we hunted orcs at the border, chasing a half-breed girl on wargs.” Carefully, she listened without craning her neck. “Half-breed girl? Then tell me, Legolas, what is she half of, specifically?” _Gods…_ “She is half-elven. She would not say what else.” Thranduil must have gestured for the doors to open, because no sooner had Legolas spoke, she was being dragged before the king, thrashing in the elf’s hold that pulled her along before she was thrown at the king’s feet. “Leave us,” he commanded the soldiers, leaving her alone in the throne room with the king and prince. She shook, whimpered, withdrawing on herself as the fair-haired king stood from his intricate throne, stalking around her like a predator. 

“What are you, girl? My son says you will not speak of your nature.” His hand drifted to her hair, pushing it from her ear and she flinched, shaking her head. “No?” He scoffed, pale eyes boring into her form. Lovely little thing, whatever she was, and there was something within her. Something alive. “ _Elleth_ , you will come to find that I do not tolerate being told ‘no’ on something. You have the opportunity to reveal your nature now, or you can spend time in my dungeons until I decide to ask you again.” Legolas was perplexed, as was Sara, knowing Thranduil’s usual policy to invaders was immediate execution, sometimes by his own hand. She hesitated too long, and the king flicked his wrist, two guards dragging her below the castle. Both the king and prince watched as the girl squirmed, cheeks glistening with tears, but the fight seemed to have been taken out of her. “ _Ada_ ,” Legolas hissed, standing closer to the king. “Why haven’t you ordered her to be executed?”

Thranduil smiled, almost too giddily, those pale eyes still watching where the girl had vanished. “Because,” he sighed, part of his glamour fading before it returned, revealing the garish scars beneath. “She has magic, one I haven’t encountered before. It was good skill taking out the orcs, but luck is on our side with her finding our lands.” Unsure of what his father meant, Legolas merely inclined his head, bowing to his father before he was excused, still mulling over what that girl could have been.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara still hasn't breathed a word of what she is to Thranduil, and now she must bear the consequences. How does she know her race? Because, in her world, she was a writer and enjoyed cosplay, often making her own characters- her favorite being half-elven and part faerie. The story will explain itself as it progresses, I promise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to apologize in advance, some chapters will be longer than others, while some will be shorter. Bear in mind I had no idea I'd get the courage to post this, as I'm really nervous and shy about my fanfiction writing. However, here it is, and please remember that I didn't make everything canon, only a few things. Some have been altered, and others completely changed.

Sara was thrown into a dark cell with only straw on the stone floor and tattered, stained rags, and the elven guards locked her in. “If I were you, girl,” one of the guards murmured. “I’d tell the king immediately. He is not a patient elf.” She swallowed thickly, wrapping her arms around her knees. She was left alone, not even given water or scraps. No other living soul resided in the dungeons with her, and patrols seemed to cycle rarely. No weapons, her clothing little more than ribbons, she shivered in the cold, not daring to attempt magic. She didn’t know if she had it, not believing so since it was Middle Earth, and no one ever touched on magic in Middle Earth. 

She fell into a fitful, restless sleep, only managing an hour or two before she woke, colder than before. The guard who passed had worn a cloak, but didn’t spare her a second glance. She couldn’t cry, she wouldn’t allow herself to. “Think,” she hissed to herself. What was the last thing she remembered before the orcs were chasing her? _Orcs…_ it seemed like a bad dream, being chased by those creatures, but even so, the half-elven girl silently mulled over what she could recall. She remembered reading a book, then writing a little of her stories, talking to her friend, but… after that, there was nothing. Only a searing pain within her head, but no sign of how she came to be in Middle Earth. Was she dead? No, that couldn’t have been- she still felt ungodly levels of anguish when she moved the slightest bit. 

Hunger filled her. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate, but no food came, nor did any water. When the next guard came through, she had hoped to ask, but the degree of loathing from the elven man made her recoil, hiding in the shadows of her cell. “Filthy half-breed,” he spat, slamming his sword against the bars. Sara yelped, panting as her eyes widened in panic, but never once moved. Hearing her was good enough it seemed, knowing she still lived and left her down there. She spent days in those dungeons, reaching a week when a guard unlocked her cell. Starving, she was delirious, her pain unimaginable as her wounds began to set with infection. “Should be amiable to talking now, won’t you, girl? A few days no food, no water, no bandages… you should be about ready to do anything for just a scrap.” 

A shaking breath escaped and she groaned, unable to even lift her head much. The guard dragged her from the cell, pulling her along the massive, intricate stairs and back to the king’s throne room, once again tossing her at his feet. “As you ordered, Your Majesty. No food or water and no bandages.” It was _his_ order to starve her? The girl remained too weak, too feeble to move when Thranduil stood, gesturing for someone to approach. “Tend the wounds,” his deep, melodic voice ordered. “Then leave us.” A woman, lithe and elven, sneered at Sara openly but did as she was told. The woman, however, was rough, pinching the girl often and earned a wince, grimacing and waiting for her to finish. Unceremoniously, she released her, and her head thumped against the floor as she was left alone with the king. 

“You must be thirsty, girl,” he sounded as though he was mocking her. “Hungry too, I’ll wager.” He knelt in front of her, forcing her chin to meet his eyes. Her lips were cracked as she trembled, noticing the chalice he held in his other hand. “Looks good, hm? Then perhaps you’re ready to talk. Do that, and it’s yours. This and more, if your answer pleases me. After all, who doesn’t wish for the favor of a king?” She choked, but to Thranduil, it came out as a scoff. He tugged her hair back, forcing her to stand, and Sara finally saw the height difference between them. Thranduil was a giant compared to her, his wide, broad shoulders blocking anyone from seeing her, and her head only reached below his chest. His arms were lithe, but much bigger than her own, as were his long legs, his robes fitting and accentuating each part of him the way they were supposed to. 

Another whimper left her. It felt as though he’d tear the hair from her scalp with no effort. “You are in no position to carry such pride, half-breed, and do not think your beauty will see you spared. Do you wish for death?” He had to lean forward, but was nose to nose with her and she hurriedly shook her head, unable to shed a tear. “N-No, p-please sir-” His other hand threw the chalice aside in favor of clutching her throat, fingertips indenting to leave bruises as the air left her lungs. “You will address me as ‘my King’, or anything similar. Are we clear?” A strangled sob stuck in her throat, but she nodded, her small hands tearing at the one against her neck. “Y-Yes…” Thranduil tilted his head, malice gleaming in his pale eyes. “Yes, _what_ , mongrel?” He never noticed her nails clawing against his wrist as he held her still. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

He dropped her, abruptly releasing her and Sara collapsed in a heap at his feet, coughing and sputtering as she held her throat. For a moment, the elven king left her on his floor, gesturing to the doors and another servant entered, this one carrying an intricately decorated pitcher filled with water, retrieving the discarded chalice and replacing it. Once the boy had gone, Thranduil filled the new chalice, setting it aside. He was a full two heads taller than her, and he’d swung her around like she was nothing. The room spun as the elven king watched her waver while sitting, humming to himself. “Again, mutt, and do not mince words. What are you? You wish to keep your life, yes?” Sara nodded, seeing double of the king and went to her knees, head low. How could she tell him she was part faerie _and_ part human? Despite being mostly elven, she didn’t think he would care, and faeries didn’t exist in Middle Earth, which only complicated matters. 

Coughing once more, the girl shivered as her words escaped. “I… I don’t know h-how long I’ve been here, s-sire, but… but what I am, I… I have not encountered anyone like myself.” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, but his expression was intrigued. “You’ve been in my halls for a week, girl-” But she shook her head, coughing again. “I… I mean, in-in this land, Your Majesty. I-I can only remember running f-from the orcs. N-Nothing more.” The king was a mistrustful sort by nature, and Sara knew it was because the elven man was no stranger to betrayal, but even that couldn’t have prepared her for his sudden approach. “You’re taking me for a fool!” His large hand wrapped around her throat once more, a growl resonating in his chest that terrified her. “N-No, please, Your Majesty! It-it’s the truth!” 

Thranduil shook her, throwing her across the floor and stalked toward her. “You still haven’t answered my question, girl. _What_ are you? Why you are here and how means little in this moment, and you are testing my patience.” Sara felt something crack and she cried out, having impacted with solid wooden steps. Or were they stone? He stood over her, watching her pained, delirious stare drift in and out of consciousness until his hand encased her upper arm, bringing her to her knees. She felt something shift in the room, and in her daze, saw his glamour shift, revealing his true face. A small cry left her, but while frightened, her heart broke, remembering how he’d earned those scars. As his glamour shifted, so did something within her, and Sara felt her bones crack, her ribs and spine feeling as though someone was grinding them to dust.

Her cries began to grow, turning into screams as she lurched forward, trying to run, to hide, anything to escape the pain that refused to abate. “Speak! Or this will be a blessed relief compared to what you can truly suffer!” The king held her at arm’s distance, a hand on either side as his guards rushed in, weapons drawn. “Stand down! Leave this instant!” They did so, ignoring the screams of the half-breed prisoner as Thranduil’s magic pushed against her, taking the air from her lungs. “Will you speak _now_?” He hissed. She meant to nod, to agree to tell him if the pain would stop, but black spots danced in her vision and her entire body became rigid, feeling as though talons were tearing her to shreds. Too much. It was too much to withstand, and as she started to fall unconscious, the king throttled her once more, but it was in vain. Unable to speak, the girl’s head fell, eyes closed and became limp, just as her wings unfurled from her back.

Thranduil’s pale eyes were alight with wonder, kneeling in hushed silence at the starving girl he’d terrified. She had wings, nothing like he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t help but marvel at them. Gossamer, softer than the finest silks, and large enough that she could take flight if she chose. The color of those wings shifted as they idly fluttered, but they weren’t as butterfly wings, nor dragonfly. Not a bird’s, she didn’t have feathers, but nor were they a bat’s wings, possessing nothing leathery to them. They were almost tattered, and finally, his gaze drifted over the girl’s unconscious features. She was dirty, filthy even, in immediate need of a change of clothes and her oily hair needed washed. Only mere moments had passed, but it was enough time for Thranduil to become more intrigued with the girl.

Where was she from? What did her wings mean? What magic did she have? How could he use it to his advantage? As the questions rose one after another, two guards burst in upon noting the silence, fearing their king had suffered wounds from the girl. They saw the elven king holding the girl upright, staring over her in rabid interest, but it was her wings that made them still. “Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty, we thought…” Thranduil laughed, straightening himself and lifted the girl. “You thought your king so easily bested by a winged girl? One as small as she?” There was a challenge in his pale eyes, and both guards immediately bowed their heads, faces scarlet in embarrassment. “No, Your Majesty. Might we ask…?" His gaze pointedly lingered on Sara, and the elven king sighed. “She lives, but needs tending to by a proper healer with food and water. I have questions for our guest.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the length! Sometimes I keep going and forget to mark where the chapters end! (Google Docs, my friends) Like I said for the last, some will be longer, others will be shorter. (Smut will be AWHILE before it happens, my friends, but it will come (as will a few characters HA)) (Also, my Elvish/Sindarin/Quenyan is still a learning process - please no hateful remarks)

The next time Sara roused, three days had passed. Healers tended to the wounds she’d suffered, mending her cracked skull and several other afflictions, pushing fluids into her so she wouldn’t die of dehydration. Hazel eyes burned and cracked open, the girl whimpering and another elven female approached. “Steady, steady, you’ll tumble and the work will have been for nothing, girl. Hold still.” She was on her stomach, feeling something shift and flutter behind her, and tilted her head to see… “Wings…?” The realization startled her, and Sara’s hands clenched several times as the healer brought her a chalice of cold water. “Yes, you have wings- were you not aware?” She brought the girl to sit, handing her the chalice. Sara drank greedily, choking and a little ran down her chin, looking down to see she only had bandages covering her chest. “I… I didn’t…” 

The healer believed she wasn’t aware of them, thinking the small half-breed was probably addled somehow, but before she left to inform Thranduil that she had risen, Sara called back. “I didn’t have them where I come from…” A cuff remained around her ankle, preventing her from running as it was bolted to the floor. The half-elf’s face contorted into one of frustration, finishing the water quickly. Moments later, the elven king had entered, startling her and hurriedly covered her chest, her breath shaking as Thranduil stared openly at her wings. He seemed entranced for a moment, humming thoughtfully as he stalked around her. “Leave us.” The healer left as ordered, and Sara was alone with the elven king once again. Her trembling worsened, tucking her face down from the elf. “The healer tells me you weren’t aware of your wings. How is that possible? Some sort of spell?” 

Sara shook her head, and Thranduil stood in front of her, his head tilted curiously. “Truly? And… she went on to say you claim to not possess them where you come from. You have arisen many questions, girl, ones you will answer immediately. Now, let’s begin with the first one- What. Are. You.” He paused with each word, taking her chin and forcing her gaze up to his pale blue. Her lip quivered, tears rimming her eyes and her lips parted to speak. “Before you say you are half-elven, please remember my son has already informed me as much, as have your ears. Careful how you answer, girl, your life may depend on it.” A whimper stuck in her throat and she swallowed, her breaths short. “P-Part faerie, Your Majesty… I-I’m part faerie, h-half-elven and… p-part human…” 

Thranduil’s eyes lit brighter than ever, stepping closer to the half-naked girl as he looked over her. “Well, this certainly complicates matters for you, doesn’t it? Enlighten me, if you would- what exactly _is_ a faerie? The wings are obvious of course, but… surely there’s more to establish the race than merely wings.” He hadn’t released her yet, tilting her head slowly from one side to another as if searching for something he hadn’t seen before. “Well?” He loosened his hold, and Sara’s knuckles turned white as tight as she held herself. “I-I don’t know much…” she spoke quietly, and he resumed striding around her, as if the most inanimate object was at his command. She also noticed the sword at his hip and swallowed thickly, the words tumbling from her lips when he shot her a sharp look. “I-I was human where I came from- this wasn’t… I don’t know how I got here. I only remember running from orcs in the forest. But… but there’s rumors of… of what faeries are, where I come from. Th-they’re supposed to have magic, Y-Your Majesty.” 

She sucked in her lower lip, chewing it mercilessly as she trembled, waiting for her execution sentence, fearing he didn’t believe her. Thranduil chuckled, the sound startling her. “Well, a rumor proved true, I see. What else?” Sara shook her head. “I-I truly don’t know, sire, I swear. Th-this is new for me.” The smile on his features sobered into something more somber, and the elven king paused in front of her, his expression unreadable. “You truly are lost with no memory…” the comment was more to himself, but even so, the half-elf nodded, sniffling. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement, then.” Her eyebrows knit together, resisting the urge to flinch when his hand came toward her face. Oddly, the gesture was tender, soft as his fingers drifted through her hair, which had been washed, and stroked her cheek. Thranduil noticed he had her attention then, the tiniest smirk twisting the corner of his lips. 

“We can teach you to harness what you possess- well, I can. You would have your very own chambers within my castle, you would be free to find the answers you seek-” Noticing she perked up considerably, he held her face tighter, watching the fear spark once more. “-However, if you want what I offer, you must do something for me in return.” Sara swallowed again, audibly, waiting for him to continue. “Serve me. Those skilled with magical prowess are either wanderers or reside in Rivendell, and you would do well here. Serve me, whatever I ask of you without hesitation, and everything you desire will be yours.” _Except freedom from these halls_. She remembered what was written in the books- not a soul left Mirkwood unless the king himself gave consent, and trying to flee would mean her demise, as would refusing. She didn’t have a choice. Her features were averted, her breaths shaking and she nodded finally. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty. I-I will serve you.” 

She had to swallow the way she almost spat the word ‘serve’. Doing so would have meant having her tongue cut from her head. Satisfied, Thranduil released her, but stroked her cheek one final time. “Don’t look so disheartened. All those under my rule are taken care of, fairly and hospitably. They’re happy with me as their king.” The tears she’d been holding in were fighting their way to break free, one slipping down her cheek as she met his gaze. There was a sort of sympathy there, but it faded as quickly as it had come, and as he left, he called over his shoulder. “I will have clothing brought to you to accommodate your wings, girl, then I will have someone show you to your new quarters. You’ve chosen well.” Once the door had closed, the flimsy dam holding her cries back had burst, and she wept silently in her hands. Captive by an elven king, one she read to be cruel and vicious, with no chance of escape unless he allowed it. 

Sara was tended to almost immediately, the servants bringing her what appeared to be gowns, backless, with varying accessories emblazoned with Thranduil’s seal. She was dressed, noting how the gown she was placed in tied at the neck, allowing her wings to flutter as they chose, right before her hair was decorated with elven jewels, her arms given delicate cuffs with even more delicate chains that attached to her dress. _Fancy shackles_ , she inwardly sighed, head down as guards led her throughout the castle. It was all natural, mostly, and the path seemed to be just as much, though the guards were unable to fully hide her wings from view of passersby, each of them hissing to one another excitedly. Who was this newcomer? Surely not the girl their king had imprisoned in their dungeons… Rumors flew wildly around as she was led to a room with large, intricately carved doors. Her chambers. “You are in the same wing as His Majesty himself, girl, but make no mistake- any attempt to flee or take his life and you will suffer a fate worse than death.”

Renegade tears slipped from her eyes and she growled, staring up at the guard in frustration. “You think I don’t know that?! I’m not a simpleton, you barbarian! I know I have no chance!” His hand drew back to strike her and she flinched, but another guard stilled him. “She’s already agreed to serve His Majesty, let us be done with this here.” The door was open and she darted into the room, far away as she could get from the guard about to hit her, not noticing a thing within the chambers until they were gone. With the door shut, the guards hadn’t locked it, which meant Thranduil kept his word. She knew, however, there would be eyes on her, and while the room was magnificent, it was also her prison. Her breaths caught in short bursts, the tears once again free as she was alone, unaware of the guards positioned outside her room, or that the king himself stood just outside, listening to her weep. 

Her supper was brought to her chambers by another guard, fish and bird with some kind of vegetable and a hunk of warm bread with a cup of… something. She didn’t know what it was, but her stomach didn’t care. She was starving, but forced herself to take small bites so she wouldn’t make herself sick. The elves’ cooking was delicious as it was healthy, and once the half-elven girl had finished, candles were lit in her chambers, and once more, she was left alone with only books to comfort her. The only ones she could make real sense of were the ones in dwarven runes- she had no idea how to read Elvish, but there were also a few written in the language of Man. She took a few, barely able to read from the mistiness of her eyes, then fell into a fitful, restless sleep, dreams plagued with the elven king. 

* * *

For days, she was left to herself, confined to the room without a soul to speak with- not even the children were allowed near her. Some of them treated her like a disease, and Thranduil was nowhere to be seen. Not once did Sara ask where he was, but she became lonely, her only companions the books that lined the shelves in her chambers. She was unaware he continued to receive updates on her, each guard remarking on her silence, or her tears, hearing her cry sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes, she would hum softly, a melody known to her but entirely alien to them, and they, at first, refused to listen, thinking it some trick, some siren call to lure them into false complacency. It was only when one of the fresh recruits listened that the others decided to as well, realizing she conducted no magic from her words. Her only allowance beyond food three times a day was a change of clothes and fresh water to bathe in or drink, and after a fortnight, the king paid another visit.

“You’re looking well,” he commented, the door closing behind him. Sara was on the bed, book in hand and withdrew slightly, chewing her lip with a timid nod. “There’s more color to you, even your eyes are alight. Though, in all this time, no one bothered to get your name. What are you called?” Thranduil was closer, just within reach, and his presence left her scrambling, heart beating furiously against her ribs as she hugged the book to her chest. “We have an arrangement, and I believe it is only fair to know the name of one I enter into an agreement with, or would you prefer to just be referred to as ‘girl’?” A sound caught in her throat and she shook her head. “N-No, Your Majesty,” her voice had grown small, meek even. She was still frightened of him. “M-My name is Sara, sire.” Her eyes averted, and Thranduil took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“Sara is the name of a human woman,” he replied, but not in distaste that she could tell. When her hazel eyes lifted, he was looking over her wings, then met her gaze with amusement. “I think I will call you Aranel. The meaning is the same, but you are more Elven than Human, so you shall have a name to fit. Curious how your name means ‘princess’. Were you one where you come from?” Color rose against her features despite her worry, amusing him further, but she quickly shook her head. “N-No, Your Majesty. I… I was just a nobody. I-I only read and would write stories.” Something flared to life in those pale, icy orbs, something that made her swallow thickly. “You’re a storyteller? Then you must have some tales of your own to share- or at least have heard some you could recall from your homeland.” She knew a few and inclined her head. The elven king then called for a guard, standing from her bed. “Come, Aranel. We have much to discuss.”

She followed without a sound, and not a guard followed them as Thranduil led her through the colossal place. Then again, they didn’t have to- the elven king was gifted beyond measure with a sword, he would have her dead before she could blink. Though it was only her and the elven man, Sara felt horribly exposed, her entire back bare as her iridescent wings shimmered and floated. He led her within the very heart of his halls, which was dark enough to need lanterns hanging along the walls. Fear began to rise within her, her breath quickening and Thranduil chuckled. Though amused, to her, it was dark, resonating in his chest and she felt for sure he’d strike her down on the path beneath them. “I can almost hear your heart, Aranel,” his rich voice startled her and he paused, his crown making him even more intimidating. His eyes were clear, and the king stilled briefly, gesturing for her to walk just before him. 

Thranduil’s lips were at her ear before they continued. “If it beats any louder, one might think it to be bird’s wings, desperate to escape the cage. I’ve no wish to kill you, nor to harm you.” One hand drifted along her back, between her wings and down her spine, resting just at the hem of her gown. His hands were large, warm, rough yet possessed a softness that had to be from immortality, and Thranduil guided her further along until they reached a door, lanterns on either side. “My private library,” he murmured. Sara tilted her hazel eyes up, having to crane her neck to meet his gaze. The snow berries in his crown could have been spots of blood as the shadows bounced around them, but his pale eyes were lustrous as he opened the door. 

While the path had been dark, the elven king’s private library was illuminated as if possessing its own stars, and the girl’s mouth fell open in wonder. “Oh…” Her small hand drifted over her mouth as she drank in the sight around her, she’d never seen anything so beautiful. Crystals illuminated various places in the library, giving it a mystical sort of aura, and the ceiling sparkled with… she wasn’t sure what that was. “Diamonds,” he murmured, startling her. “The diamonds in the ceiling are reflecting the crystals in the room, so they look like stars.” Thranduil saw the awe filling her entire being, and as she drifted further inside, he locked the door behind them, watching the worry replace her wonder. “We don’t want to be disturbed, and as I said before, we’ve much to discuss.” Her breath shook, and she tucked her head down, inclining it slightly. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

Nowhere to run, Sara knew if she tried to flee, he would more than likely make her suffer. While he said he didn’t want to kill or hurt her, she had been lied to before, the king had lied to several others before, nothing was certain. He led her to a place that was better lit, taking a seat in a large armchair and gestured for her to take the one opposite of it as he trailed his fingertips along various spines of books along the shelves. “What languages are you proficient in, I wonder?” Sara coughed, feeling her wings shift so she could sit comfortably. “I…” Thranduil paused in his search, meeting her gaze. She looked impossibly lost. Lost and ashamed, earning a confused expression. “Do not tell me you only know the language of Men.” Her eyes went to her fidgeting hands, clasped in front of her. “I-I know a little Dwarvish, Y-Your Majesty, but… but not much. Dwarven runes go by another name, though, and… and humans are the only race there.” Thranduil’s confusion grew, almost disbelieving. “How far are you from Middle Earth? Where do you come from?”

Thranduil watched as the air left her lungs, fear rising in her eyes as she floundered for an answer. “You are to remain honest with me, Aranel.” He heard her swallow, and the elven king took two strides to her before the words left her lips. “M-Middle Earth didn’t exist where I come from, Your Majesty. It-it was a fiction, I… I come from another world altogether.” Her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she tensed, as if waiting to be struck down, and a little more of her tale made sense, thinking his initial thoughts of a spell that sent her to them. He strode past her, filling a glass of wine. “Another world? I don’t need to remind you about the penalty should you lie to me.” By the time he’d turned to face her, tears were swimming down her cheeks before she hid in her hands. “I-I swear I’m telling the truth, Your Majesty.” Her voice broke as she choked on a sob, trembling before him, but Thranduil couldn’t detect a single lie from her. Unless she was gifted at it, but anyone in fear of their life would normally speak the truth. There were factors that only added to her tale, and he opted to give her the benefit. 

He filled another glass, taking his seat and watched her carefully, setting the second glass beside her. “So, from what I understand- you come from a place that only Men inhabit, you were once human yourself, so that means you’ve never encountered elves, orcs, dwarves, nothing?” Sara wearily eyed the glass as the elven king sipped from his own. “N-Nothing, Your Majesty. O-Only in books.” Books, movies, media… Her breath shook as her hands clasped tight in her lap, shoulders trembling. “I’m no better than a newborn,” she cried softly. “I know too little to be worth anything, and if… if that means my death, then… then I have no choice.” His eyebrow quirked and he straightened, taking her glass of wine and offering it to her. “Drink,” his tone was stern, leaving no room for argument. Sara remembered from the books that elven wine was potent- the one glass would leave her entirely drunk, but she couldn’t refuse an order from him. She shakily took the glass, sipping carefully despite her trembling.

It tasted nothing like the wine she’d had before- it was sweet, fruity, tasting like juice instead of alcohol, and already, she was blanketed in warmth. “You don’t feel your power, do you? Knowledge is acquired through effort, not through wishing. If you don’t know something, learn it. I believe there is more than enough here to teach you.” She took another swallow, a bigger one, her head feeling fuzzy. “But I… I can’t read Elvish, Your Majesty. I can barely read Dwarvish, and I don’t know where to begin with any magic…” Thranduil scoffed, setting his glass aside. “And you think me an incapable teacher?” Hazel eyes froze on his pale blue. He was going to teach her? He was _willing_ to? “I… I just thought…” He finished his wine, his gaze still clear. “You think I have no wish to educate you, but it’s quite clear you don’t grasp your situation, Aranel. I sense your power, you could benefit from what I can teach you as long as you remember to serve me without hesitating.” 

She stilled for a moment, thinking over his words carefully. Thranduil claimed she had power, that he could help her with it, so long as she served him. That meant he wanted to use her, for what, she didn’t know, but it was either that or die. Sara took another drink of the wine, her head falling back as the room began to spin. “You want my magic,” she finally spoke, her tone guarded. The elven king barely inclined his head, searching her features. “And in exchange,” he added. “You will be under my protection. You’re already sleeping in my wing of the palace.” He said it as though he was doing her a favor. Sara wanted to scoff, but remembered the things she’d heard and seen from some of the elves within the palace. Servant and nobility alike, upon catching only a glimpse of her, would sneer and degrade her, mostly in Elvish. While she never knew what they’d said, the intent was clear. She wasn’t welcome. 

“Either way, I’ve already given you my word, Your Majesty,” Sara picked her head up, shaking it briefly to clear her growing buzz. “I’m nothing if I don’t keep it.” She took another drink and pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning slightly. “What _is_ that?” He chuckled, amusement twinkling in his eyes and tilted his head. “After what you’ve told me, it was only fair to assume you’ve never had Elven wine. Even my own guards sometimes forget to mind themselves- it sneaks up on you quite fast.” Her eyes narrowed, squinting at the glass and noting how she only had half. “No shit, gods…” A whimper stuck in her throat as Thranduil cocked his eyebrow, mildly surprised to hear her swear. “Such language is unbecoming on a lady, Aranel.” Sara scoffed then, meeting his gaze with scrutiny. “Last I checked, Your Majesty, I don’t qualify as a lady. Ask the people in my past or the ones around your castle- they’ll tell you as much.” 

“So sharp is your tongue when you drink. They will think what I tell them to think, just as you will act how I tell you to act. Am I clear?” Her defiance rose as it usually did when she drank, but remembered her wings were very real, and she was truly in the presence of the woodland king, that his temper truly was vicious and she nodded. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.” Thranduil hummed, satisfaction bright in his gaze and sipped more from his glass. “For a moment, I watched a defiant glimmer in your lovely eyes. I’m pleased to see that despite that tongue, you can behave.” It was just a remark without pretense, no underlying meaning, but Sara’s drunk mind immediately drifted toward the carnal sense, her face the shade of the wine in their glasses. The king noticed, quirking his eyebrow, but said nothing. With her having bathed, wearing the garments he’d selected to display her wings but leaving extra skin on display, he saw she was beautiful, striking, but she was a half-breed. Then again… he _was_ the king. 

Thranduil shook his head, pouring himself more wine. She’d admitted she was no princess where she had come from, nor any kind of nobility. It spiked his curiosity further. “Tell me, something, Aranel.” Weary, her glassy eyes met his. “Hmm? Your Majesty?” She sipped her wine, holding the glass with both hands, seeing she was dwarfed in his chair. “You say you’re no princess where you come from, that you were just a nobody. I’m curious as to what your profession was- have you always been a storyteller?” Sara shook her head, chewing her lip. “N-No, not… not really, I… I loved to write stories, and a few people enjoyed them, but… it wasn’t something I could live on very well. I… I barely managed to stay alive, to be honest.” She grew quiet, turning the glass in her hands, and he wondered if there was anyone she’d left behind. “Did someone take care of you? Husband, lover, family?” Again, her head shook, chewing her lip. “No, Your Majesty. I had no one. Where I come from… I… I’ve never been sought after.” 

Silence rang between them, and as her eyes averted, his own looked over her. Even if she met his gaze, he wouldn’t hide how he analyzed her. As a male, he couldn’t see why she was refused- she was beautiful, breathtaking even, and she possessed curves that were tempting to anyone, he was sure of it. Her hair was like obsidian silk, her skin pale and delicate, and her eyes were soul-stealing. Perhaps there was something else that repelled them from her, but he couldn’t say for certain. “I’m sure there were at least two or three that held their eyes on you. Though I’m still curious- you remember nothing before running from the orcs?” She bit her lip before a heavy sigh escaped, and she took another sip of wine. “Just… all I can remember is writing on my story, and… and then I was running, but… there’s nothing between. I-I thought I died or… or… I don’t even know… it hurts to remember.” 

The more she thought, the more she tried to recall between writing and running from the orcs, the more a searing pain lanced through behind her eyes and she winced, a whimper sticking in her throat and she hurriedly drank the rest of the wine. No longer able to see straight, she felt as if she grew roots in the chair, unable to move from the spot, knowing she’d fall if she tried. She didn’t notice immediately how the elven king had set her glass aside, his gaze still studious as he looked over her pained expression. “You will strain yourself if you’re not careful, Aranel. Something might help your memory fall into place with the right trigger.” She could only nod, eyes opening and closing blearily when she met his clear, icy blue. Gods… he was gorgeous, it wasn’t fair that he was the king, nor that he was so cold. “You’re drunk,” he commented, that voice like warm honey despite everything. “Mmm,” Sara groaned, leaning over the arm of the chair. “Maybe a little…” 

_He’s the fucking_ **_king_ ** _, act like you have some damn decency and sit up straight!_ Her inner logic warred with her present state, and slowly, she began to sit up, clutching the arms of the chair, just to find he had a smirk on his features. At least, she thought he did- didn’t he? “Am I to assume then, that you enjoy Elven wine?” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose to regain some clarity, blinking up at Thranduil carefully. “I… I do, Your Majesty, it tastes nothing like I’ve had before, better, even.” There was a certain smugness to the satisfaction in his eyes. “Of course you do, it is only natural to enjoy the best life has to offer, but do not indulge yourself too much. I’m sure a smart girl like you can figure out why you shouldn’t.” She stilled for a moment, and Thranduil saw he struck a nerve, quirking his eyebrow to see if she’d lash back. She didn’t. “Wh-what else did you wish to discuss, Your Majesty?” 

Those entrancing hazel eyes never lifted from her lap, her wings had even gone still, and upon looking at her features, the longer he looked, the more he saw her face was wet. She was crying. The elven king wasn’t sure what could have sparked those tears. “Why are you crying?” For a moment, she choked, turning her face away to recover and hurriedly wiped her eyes, still wavering in the seat. She shook her head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “It… it’s nothing, sire.” His eyes narrowed on her, disbelieving. “Aranel…” She met his gaze that time, but there was a fire behind her tears despite his warning tone. “It’s nothing that won’t get my head removed, Your Majesty,” she clarified, her own voice hardening. “So, if you don’t mind, I would prefer to keep it on my shoulders. Do you wish to talk about anything else, or will you continue to be condescending and patronizing to me?” Oh, _that’s_ what it was.

Thranduil smiled, wickedly so, and leaned forward, taking her wrist in a vice-like grip. “I will speak to you in any manner I choose, _Dilthen gwen_ , and make no mistake, you will deal with it the way anyone properly would to a king, _your_ king.” He pulled her closer and she stumbled, a whimper catching in her throat, hazel eyes wide with panic. “Now, is there anything else you wish to wag your tongue about?” Sara shook her head, unable to tear her wrist free. The more she struggled, the tighter he held on. “N-No, Your Majesty.” Her breaths were in panicked bursts, and she hurriedly avoided his gaze, the icy blue penetrating as if he could see the darkest parts of her. She didn’t think she’d ever met anyone that possessed the same level of strength, realizing he wouldn’t release her until he felt like it. “Then perhaps it is time to retire for the evening. Your teaching starts tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow? As drunk as she was? She didn’t have a choice, regardless if she had a hangover or not, and he finally let her wrist free. The elven king began to rise, and as Sara did the same, black surrounded her vision, knees giving out from under her. Thranduil caught her instinctively, finding she’d fallen unconscious and smirked. The wine was too much for her to handle. With her wings going still, he was able to brush over them, seeing how they sparked to life at the smallest touch. Curious… But he wouldn’t be able to carry her, not the traditional way. He called for a guard to carry her back to her chambers, the elf not asking any questions as he hoisted the half-elf over his shoulder, laying the girl on her stomach once in the confines of her quarters, allowing her wings to float idly as she slept. The guard himself looked over her curiously- she was smaller than a dwarf, small feet, she could have passed for a tiny elven girl, but… The man shook his head, leaving Sara to sleep quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara's training has begun, as has her education.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, my elvish in any form is rusty, so my apologies. Also, this chapter was all over the place, but it has its purpose.

She was woken the following morning by a maid, another one who sneered and muttered  _ “ _ _ Thiach uanui” _ before hurriedly pushing her to dress in another thing chosen by their king to openly display her wings. Lights were too bright, the slightest sound too much to withstand, and movement made her wish she’d stayed in bed. “His Majesty is waiting for you in the library,” one of the guards told her as they escorted her through the halls. Sara nodded, trying to recall the events of the past night. All she could remember was telling the king she felt no more than a newborn when little pieces began to return. He’d insulted her, she snapped back, he grabbed her… She cleared her throat, the skin aching slightly from the almost faded bruises when he’d held her by the neck. They stopped, staves knocking into the floor beneath them to announce their arrival and opened the door, gesturing for her to enter. Well, at least a couple guards weren’t so open about degrading her, she supposed that counted for something.

Upon entering the main library, Sara meekly began padding through, searching for the woodland king. He was more silent than the grave, and once she was in far enough, stood behind her before getting her attention. “I’m surprised you woke in time to come to your lesson this morning, Aranel. I trust you slept well, then?” Startled, she inhaled sharply and whirled, craning her neck to look him in the eye. Fingers twisting in her skirt, she bowed her head. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.” He inclined his head, regally drifting toward another part of the library, which she assumed meant to follow. She kept a mindful distance, noting the colors he wore- shades to compliment the season, hues of varying reds, browns, deep oranges… with the snow berries in his thorn-like crown, his pale features were better accentuated, and she saw the black beneath whenever he shifted. He was intimidating beyond measure. 

Thranduil led her to a large table, one that was scattered with various tomes, all written in Elvish, but very few in the language of Men. “You will study these for this morning’s activities,” his tone left no room for argument. “Afterward, you will meet me in the courtyard to test your defenses.” Her head was still bowed, refusing to meet his gaze, hands fidgeting in front of her as she noted the color of her dress. It was a soft shade of earthy green, almost the shade of soil and moss, and her wings had shifted slightly as if attempting to match the hues. Thranduil took her chin and tilted her face up, and her eyebrows knit together with worry. But he smirked, confusing her. “The dress suits you. Did you know your wings are a shade of green to match it?” Sara bit her lip and her head shook. “N-No, Your Majesty, I… I didn’t, I… I didn’t think much of it because I didn’t want to be late.”

Pride and satisfaction lit up his features, and despite the fact he made her nervous, he was breathtaking. His eyes… gods above, his eyes were so unnerving, and the way he went over her made a small sound stick in her throat. “Well, I’m pleased that you at least have some sense of propriety. Go on, then, get to work.” He released her chin, and her gaze went back over the books laying across the table. Carefully, Sara stepped around, peering over each of them to decipher if any could help her translate, subtly trying to put distance between herself and the woodland king. She was keenly aware of his eyes remaining on her as she took one of the tomes from the table, but then again, the king never once tried to hide it, confident that he wouldn’t be challenged. 

Finally, after skimming through, Sara managed to find a portion where the Sindarin texts could be translated, then an entirely different book that explained how to write in Elvish. “Thank the gods…” She murmured to herself, relief settling over her shoulders. She quickly became engrossed in the book, forgetting entirely that Thranduil was still there, still watching as her delicate finger traced the proper movements to write the script herself. She knew, however, she was able to translate written a lot quicker than spoken, hoping desperately there was another book to show her proper pronunciation, not thinking the king would help her. As she went over the translations, she picked another book, one written solely in Elvish and looked between the volumes, her mind piecing everything in parts. 

“You’ll need a quill and ink, Aranel, if you want to properly understand it,” Thranduil commented, startling her from her reverie. Again, he’d managed to make her jump. The king was standing behind her. Sara clutched the books to her chest, whirling to find there was little to no space between them as he carefully evaded her wings, which were fluttering quicker. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.” She had to shift to the side, unable to back away with the table blocking her path, and hurriedly found what she needed, inching to the side of the table he wasn’t near so she could at least attempt something.  _ Haven’t written with a quill and inkwell before… hopefully it works like a fountain pen.  _ Her breaths were shaky, finding blank parchment and carefully dipped the quill, mindful to not spill anything on the table or, gods forbid, the books themselves. 

Experience was the best teacher, wasn’t that the saying? She hoped she was right. As Sara kept the books open around her, she began to mimic the script, hazel eyes darting from the parchment to the book to ensure she had it right, and Thranduil began moving toward her again.  _ Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! How am I supposed to focus?  _ She couldn’t control the way her breath trembled, nor her hands, swallowing thickly. It seemed the woodland king, while perfectly aware of personal space, did nothing to allow her as much, almost touching her as he hovered behind her. “You’re trembling again,  _ tithen-wen _ . Whatever could be the reason? Don’t tell me it’s because I unnerve you.” If she didn’t know better, she would think he was close to laughing at her, and she almost lost the retort on her tongue. “Y-You  _ are  _ the king, Your Majesty. I’ve never met a king before…” Thranduil hummed, tilting his head as he traced her spine, directly between her wings and invoked a shiver of goosebumps to run along her arms.

She inhaled sharply, face the shade of beets and forced herself not to snap the quill in her hand. “Then the first impression is one of greatness, I’ll wager-”  _ A great ass, maybe. Wait… does he-  _ “And your first impression lasts a lifetime. At least you know I won’t disappoint.” His fingertips drifted over her wings again, tracing them and his lips were by her ear. “Get to work.” It was only a whisper, but the tone was so commanding she almost jerked and knocked into the table, turning to find he was leaving the library. Not once did he pass her another glance, and Sara’s eyes drifted to…  _ Yeah, definitely a great ass. Smug, perfect, elven bastard.  _ Indignation rose in her throat and she worked as much as possible, to the point her hands cramped with the writing she’d done. A guard hadn’t even been in the library with her, as if he knew she wouldn’t try to run.

She’d worked through lunch, unaware of the time that passed. Only when a guard arrived did she yelp, jumping from her task and clutched her chest did she ask. “Wh-what time is it?” The guard, one with dark brown hair and striking green eyes, grinned at her. “Time for you to be in the courtyard. His Majesty doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and he’s been waiting awhile.” Hazel eyes widened with panic, hurriedly closing the inkwell and replacing the quill before she clutched her skirts, almost running from the library. The seconds that ticked by made her fear he would strike her, but when they arrived in the courtyard, Sara was surprised to find it filled with wildlife. Rabbits, deer, squirrels and more ran around in a carefree way, and she tiptoed as the guard left her there. Where was the king? Swallowing the knot in her throat, she felt as though the wildlife watched her on behalf of him when a bunny hopped directly in front of her. 

“O-Oh!” It was larger than any rabbit she’d ever seen in her life, and there was an intelligence in its eyes that was almost… well, she couldn’t say human, per se, but vastly more intelligent than the animals she encountered before. Sara knelt down as it raised its head, sniffing her curiously. “Hello…” She kept her tone soft, offering her hand, only for it to push its head against her palm. She couldn’t stifle her giggles, stroking the creature behind its ears. “Oh, you’re just so beautiful, aren’t you?” The birds sang all around her, setting her at complete ease. Even the squirrels were chittering above as she continued to pet the large rabbit that so confidently strode up to her. “Okay, I have to stop petting you now-” But the rabbit wasn’t satisfied with the little amount of affection, pushing its paws on her knee as if demanding more. 

As it did so, Thranduil caught the sound of her laughter, and stepped silently through the courtyard to find her with one of the many creatures that frequented his gardens. Her wings fluttered peacefully, in perfect harmony with everything around her, and the rabbit continued to seek her affection, earning more happy laughter. Odd. The sound was strangely musical to the woodland king- he’d heard plenty of laughter before but… hers was somehow different. “Okay, if I’m allowed to come back here, I promise I’ll pet you more,” she was whispering quickly to the rabbit, and the king tilted his head. “But if I don’t find the king and do what I’m supposed to, I don’t know what will happen, and I  _ really  _ don’t want to-” He purposely stepped forward to get her attention, and the half-elf whirled, hazel eyes panicked. “Y-Your Majesty! I-”

“So it looks as though you’re enjoying my courtyard.” She whimpered, tucking her head down, but gave him a slight nod. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty, it’s beautiful.” He flicked his wrist for her to stand, leading her through the massive grounds. “Do you enjoy the forest?” He glanced over his shoulder to see she’d inclined her head again. “I-I do. I always have…” He smirked at her, bringing her to a clearing. One of his swords was leaning against a tree. Sara couldn’t help but marvel at it, as well as the flourishing color that surrounded them. During any other time, it would have been heaven, but the chill in the air made her shiver, Thranduil's presence even more so. She had to wrap her arms around her torso to retain any warmth, covering her chest to disguise the obvious reaction. 

The bite in the air brought color to her cheeks, the shade deepening when the king turned to her, looking over the way she held herself. “You must be cold, Aranel. Were you not given a cloak?” She quietly shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. His eyes wandered, lingering on her figure and noticed how her arms squeezed her chest together, and turned his head slightly. She needed something else to wear- she would be a distraction for many of the males in his halls, half-breed or not. “Then let us begin with something that’s needed. Warmth.” He was in front of her then, hand to the center of her back and brought her to a small area where fires had been built. “Are you capable of starting fires on your own, or did your world possess other means of keeping the cold away?”  _ Thank the fucking gods I took a few survival classes _ . “I… I can start them, Your Majesty, I… I have a little trouble with it, but… but I can do it.” He quirked his eyebrow, gesturing for her to try, and she found flint and steel close to a ring of stone. 

Sara knelt down, tucking herself in a way the king wouldn’t see her chest, nor the way her peaks hardened from the cold and flicked the two pieces, sending sparks flying against the wood. Nothing caught at first. Then she remembered she needed something dry to ignite it, finding dry grass beside the stone. After it was placed under and around the wood, she flicked again, the spark catching and blew small breaths. A tiny flame rose, then another, until it was finally roaring enough to make her withdraw slightly. A sigh of relief escaped and she held her palms up, then rubbed them against her arms, keenly aware he was watching. “You’re not entirely helpless,  _ tithen-wen _ . You’ve managed to start a fire, in any case.”  _ This asshole.  _ Keeping her eyes averted, she didn’t speak at first, shivering when he stepped around her and idly ran his fingers over her wings. What she wouldn’t give to glamour them, or at least be able to tuck them away at will. Despite his haughty nature, and that of the people within the castle, she wanted desperately to belong somewhere, to evict the loneliness that threatened to settle deep within her.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Thranduil left her side for a brief moment, retrieving his sword from against the tree and for a moment, Sara feared he would kill her. Hazel eyes were wide with panic, inching away from the elven king when his eyebrow rose once more. “You think I’m going to strike you down? Oh no, Aranel, you misunderstand me. Come, stand up, you’ve had more than enough time to warm up, you need to begin your training.” A dagger was tossed to her feet, and her expression changed from fear to bewilderment. Did he really mean to have her use a dagger while he used a fucking  _ greatsword _ ? While she was in a _dress_ that exposed entirely too much skin?! That blade was almost as big as her, if not the same size, and she shakily stood, gripping the dagger. “H-How… How is this supposed to help with my defense, Your Majesty?” He smiled, that same wicked smile from the night before as he took his stance. 

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” He ran toward her with a fire in his gaze, and she couldn’t prevent the yelp that left, hurriedly backing away until she fell, arm raised defensively above her as she braced herself for a blow. Nothing came. Panting, she fearfully turned her stare up to see the king was almost bored- at least, he appeared to be. “What do they teach you in that world of yours? Have you no concept of battle? Or are all others from your land soft and frail as you are?” Sara choked, anger and hurt shining in her eyes and she pushed herself to stand. “People from my world understand the concept of teaching!” Both of them stilled, and the half-elven girl realized what she’d said, the way she said it, watching as anger flared to life in those disarming orbs of his and her mouth fell open in horror. 

Thranduil tossed his sword down, on her in less than a single stride, his fingers around her throat. “Does everyone get that luxury,  _ Dilthen gwilwileth _ , or is that something only for your benefit? What gives you the foolish belief that teaching is gentle?” He’d lifted her, fingertips indenting into her neck and cutting off her air. Sara struggled, kicking as she tore at his hand, but it was like trying to pry stone from her form. He wouldn’t budge- he didn’t even seem to notice that she was fighting for air. Suddenly, he released her, dropping her and sending her crumpling at his feet. The tears that had rimmed her eyes began to fall and she hid her face, rubbing the newly forming bruises. “I…” She was rasping, and his glare threatened her very existence if she were to continue as she raised her head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty… I-I didn’t mean-”

He stalked away from her, shoulders set rigidly and left her in the courtyard. Once he was out of sight, she broke, weeping silently in her hands as her body wracked from the cold and her outright fear of the elven king. She knew better. She’d read the books, watched the movies, she knew he’d suffered and to the extent, and she said something so callous and selfish without thinking. He probably hated her- she couldn’t even stand herself in that moment. Sara crawled unsteadily to the flickering flames, not bothering to wipe her face and curled on her side to keep some kind of warmth on her skin. Just as she began to shiver, she could hear rustling around her. A whimper left her lips as she rushed to sit up, finding fawns and that large rabbit stepping toward her. The rabbit nestled itself on her lap, the fawns curling around the fire, and unable to withstand the loneliness that tore her very soul into ribbons, held the rabbit close to her chest as she laid down once more, sobbing into its fur. “I’m sorry…” Thranduil would probably have her executed for what she’d said, it was only a matter of time.

She’d cried herself to sleep, the animals around keeping her from freezing as the fire dwindled to merely embers. Thranduil had left to calm himself, frustrated with the half-breed who acted so entitled, not even acknowledging his own son, he was so lost in thought. He knew she couldn’t escape- his walls and doors were enchanted so that no one could enter or leave without his consent, the waters around the castle the same, and his guards and soldiers were the finest in the land. Even then, he wondered if she would try, her fear of him and pride seemed to make her forget the bargain they’d struck, but… oh the power within her was great, and he would have it for himself. He didn’t think he could take it into himself, already intent on ensuring she never left Mirkwood. Thranduil drifted through his halls, mindful to see if she’d hidden herself anywhere as he returned to the courtyard. 

He found her, finally, seeing her surrounded by fawns and that large rabbit, a wing resting over herself as she shivered. Under the moon, he could see her cheeks glistening, her cries soft. She was still crying in her sleep… Thranduil tilted his head, noticing the animals had spotted him and were leaving to let him approach, the elven king kneeling beside her, brushing the hair from her eyes. A guard had followed him, as they usually would, and he flicked his wrist, gesturing to the girl. “Yes, my King?” Carefully, he removed the rabbit from her arms and stood, taking the large animal to the trees. “Take the girl to her chambers, turn on the fire. I will have a maid send her to the library in the morning.” Without a sound, the guard lifted the half-elf, the girl shivering against the cold armor. “She is to be reminded her lessons will continue.” Once he’d given his orders, the king retired to his chambers, silently mulling over if the half-breed was crying for her life or for something else entirely.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Sara speaking foolishly to Thranduil didn't have as dire consequences as she expected. She even gets a new friend along the way.

Sara was surprised when she was woken by the maid the following morning, more so when she discovered she was in her chambers. Did Thranduil… did he go back and see her? She doubted he carried her, but shook the thoughts from her mind and changed into another gown provided by the elven king. It was more autumnal than the one from the day before, with varying hues of faded crimson and onyx. Just in the corner of her eye, she saw her wings flutter idly, but their color shifted, appearing to be almost hematite and garnet depending on which way they moved, as if striving to match the revealing gown. A slit ran up to her thigh and she wondered if that was intentional, noting how it fell along the right side of her figure and if her leg was revealed, would show the deep scar beside her knee. 

Her tattoos had been visible the entire time, but in all the commotion, no one ever made mention of the ink laden within her pale skin, nor about the rest of the scars she possessed. Had the king seen them? The marks themselves were more prominent against the dark colors of her dress, and she kept her gaze averted, trembling as the guard led her to the library and careful to keep her hair in place. The maid might have hated her, but the way her hair was placed was beautiful. The waves cascaded between her wings and across her shoulders, the front tied intricately to keep it from her eyes, ears on plain display with little silver tops on her points. She felt like a princess despite her growing fear that the king would order her execution.

She was in the great hall when a head of platinum blonde approached and, thinking the worst, Sara withdrew into herself. Legolas. He hadn’t been as vicious as his father, but she knew the prince didn’t care for her. Her confusion grew upon seeing the conflicted expression in his gaze as he dismissed the guard escorting her, walking alongside her instead. “You remain frightened of us.” It wasn’t a question, but an observation. Legolas was vastly intelligent and perceptive, anyone who saw him would know. The half-elf bit her lip, hands clenching to small fists and nodded, their pace slowing. Her breath quickened, but the prince’s conflict had shifted to an expression of remorse, stopping entirely and tilting her head to either side when he faced her. 

“Do they hurt?” Sara’s nails embedded into her palms upon hearing his question. “Th-they’re sore, good prince, but… but I can handle it. It…” She paused, however, timidly meeting his eyes. “What is it?” With a shaking breath, she bit her lip once more. “It was my fault,” her voice wavered, brittle. “I said something I shouldn’t have and it was only after it left me that I realized how cruel it was. I… I don’t know how to say I’m sorry, but… if-if I’m going to be dealt with according to whatever the king wishes, then… then I have no choice.” Pale blue eyes, matching his father’s exactly, narrowed briefly, but a sense of understanding fell over his features. It was then his gaze drifted over the other parts of her, noticing her ink, as well as her scars, though his face flushed at how revealing her garments were. “You will need a cloak or a robe,” he finally spoke, the two drifting toward the library again. “If my father has deemed you as a guest, you need something that doesn’t suggest you belong in a harem or a brothel.” She choked, arms shifting uncomfortably in front of her. 

“It… it is what the king decides, I…” They both knew she didn’t have a choice- regardless of the words that left Thranduil’s mouth, she was, for all intents and purposes, still viewed as a prisoner. She was lucky to be getting clothes at all, nevermind the bed or food. “I do not wish to anger him further, Your Highness.” They were in front of the library doors, and she felt strangely bare in that instance when Legolas opened them and escorted her inside. She couldn’t find the king, but the books were as they’d been left the day before and she immediately set to work. “Do you understand Elvish, _Nin híril_ , or do you require aid?” Again, Sara chewed her lip, uncertain as her hazel eyes scrambled for any sign of the king. “I… I couldn’t ask that of you, Your Highness, I… I _am_ trying, though.” Legolas sighed, picking a book from the table and flipped it open, setting it in front of her.

Within the book, she could read exactly what Elvish words meant what, their proper pronunciation, and more, a smile spreading over her face. “I can actually learn to speak it,” she murmured in hushed awe. Hazel met pale blue, tears of relief filling her eyes. “Thank you, Prince Legolas, thank you so much.” He grinned, eyes skimming over the parchment she’d been working on. “Have you written all this?” He wondered, lifting one of the sheets. Sara inclined her head, fingers twisting nervously. “I… I did. Is-is there something wrong with them?” He was reading over her work, drifting between various pieces of parchment and met her gaze once more. “And this is your first time with translations?” She nodded again, worry knotting her stomach. “It’s quite good for someone who knows nothing of our language, I only see a few mistakes in places.” Timidly, she stepped closer, taking one of the pieces. “Can you… can you show me? And how do I fix it?” 

He took the inkwell and quill, pointing to her errors and explained in a quiet voice how she could learn and fix them, allowing her to see how intricate each stroke of the quill was, how important each subtle mark could be in a correspondence. “This is perfect,” her smile grew, one of true sincerity and relief before she became sheepish and curtsied to him. “Thank you, good prince, you’ve helped more than you know.” Legolas looked as though he wanted to say something, but his eyes drifted behind her and Sara turned, seeing none other than Thranduil. Hazel eyes widened and she panicked, tucking her head down with a low curtsey, hands trembling. “Y-Your Majesty…” The elven king’s gaze bore into her, suspicious, and she shook as if he would kill her right there. Legolas had bowed as well. “ _Ada_ , I was merely helping her to learn the language of our people.” Thranduil merely flicked his wrist, tilting his head as he approached. “She was that helpless, hm? You are not a scribe, Legolas, nor are you her tutor. There is pressing work ahead for you and you spend your time as if it’s frivolous.” 

Sara didn’t raise her head, but her shaking had grown, clenching her eyes to stave off the tears threatening to form. He was just helping her, why was the king so cruel? “If you’d bothered to read over her inscriptions, she’s fairly apt teaching herself,” Legolas snapped at his father, and the half-elf flinched, inhaling sharply. “That remains to be seen. You may go.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil silenced him with the briefest glance. “Tauriel is waiting for you on another orc mission. It’s best you don’t delay.” Unable to argue, the prince stormed from the library, leaving Sara alone with his father. She was withdrawing, attempting to make herself smaller as the woodland king went over the parchment she’d written on. “It would seem that my son spoke the truth,” he commented idly, finding she still hadn’t moved, nor met his gaze. 

He noticed she had scars, more pronounced by the dark hues of her revealing gown, squinting as he thought. She was either lying that she lost her memory, making her a witch that would try to be his demise, or she was telling the truth. Yet neither perspective told him how she earned her marks. His gaze drifted down, along her frame, finding the gown revealed more than he’d originally noticed with her leg exposed. Was it a trick of the light, or did she truly possess those scars, finding the one along her knee that seemed to be from an attack of some sort. “You’re scarred,” Thranduil drifted around the table, and Sara finally lifted her head, worry in her gaze. A sound stuck in her throat as she nodded, attempting to cover more of herself despite knowing it was fruitless. The vulnerability was clear on her features, more so as she refused to look at him again. “Aranel.” 

Finally, hazel met his ice blue, timidly backing away as he approached. “Hold, you are in no position to run.” Carefully, she swallowed, pushing back her panic and drew her shoulders back. The woodland king’s eyes possessed a glimmer she was unsure of, but even then, the girl remained still. “I too know what it feels like to bear wounds, and though it is admirable of my son to aid you, the only one who will learn anything will be you. You’ve not forgotten our bargain?” Sara shook her head. “N-No, Your Majesty, I… did not wish to anger you further, that is all.” With a thoughtful hum, he stepped around her, again tracing her wings. “Then what do you have to say to defend your actions of yesterday?” Shit. She should have guessed he would confront her already on the way she’d spoken to him. “I… I have nothing I can say, sire, it… was inexcusable… and I… I hope you can find a way to forgive my mistakes.” The knot was back in her throat, as if she were ready to cry, and the loneliness surged within her to a level she’d never felt before. 

“Do you think your tears will shield you?” Her breath shook, peering up at him, neck craned to meet his eye. “N-No, Your Majesty, I don’t. What I said was unforgivable, but I truly mean my apology.” She thought for sure he’d disregard her, that he’d strike her. It had become a constant panic, but Thranduil inclined his head, the gesture intimidating when he smirked. “I am inclined to accept your remorse, however, there is something you must do for me in return.” Sara bit her lip, breath catching as he stood before her. “I’ve noticed you only ever refer to me as ‘Your Majesty’, yet you agreed to serve me. Does that not make me your king?” Her resentment towards servitude rose like bile in her throat, but before she could open her mouth to reply, he leaned close, their faces only inches apart. “Don’t think that I don’t see your blatant disdain, Aranel. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all, me. You can think of it as anything you wish, but you’re getting something from this just as well as I.”

She could feel his breath on her skin as she shivered, her own hitched and shallow. Sara gave him a brief nod, but that didn’t satisfy the elven king. “Words are bonds, I expect you to honor them the way you claim to honor the arrangement we’ve struck. Well?” She barely stifled the whimper that escaped, gripping the table behind her so tight that the corners embedded into her palms. “Y-Yes.” A darkness fell over his features, his jaw tightening. “Yes, _what_ ?” Sara could see his hand twitch, as if he was restraining himself from striking her, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Y-Yes, my King.” Thranduil straightened, shifting his coat with the satisfaction growing in his eyes. “I’ve given you my word, _Dilthen gwilwileth_ , and unlike some, I always keep it- as any great king would do. You are protected here, but until I give you my explicit consent, you will not leave. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my King,” she didn’t hesitate that time, knowing why he spoke that way but wondered what he kept calling her. “Th-thank you for… for giving me another chance.” Surprise flashed over his features, but his grin grew, haughty yet touched. “I don’t give them out often,” he warned, striding to the door. “But you will find I can be quite benevolent. Don’t take advantage of it.” He left, for whatever reason, Sara didn’t know, but she began working on the translations for the texts she’d started the day before, murmuring to herself as she began learning to speak Sindarin, just one of the Elvish dialects in Middle Earth. _Middle Earth…_ She’d been there for weeks, almost a month, but it didn’t seem real. Yet, in the impossibility of it all, it was. Everything, from the book in her hand, to the wings on her back, and the elven king Thranduil himself, was all real. 

She worked just as diligently as the day before, lost in the tomes provided for her to translate and study, and her mind was flourishing. There was so much history at her fingertips. Scraping armor alerted her to another presence, and she picked her hazel eyes up from the tome to find the guard from the day before. “Am I late?” She wondered uneasily. “Not quite,” the guard gestured for her to wrap things up and put them away, leading her to the courtyard once more. In her haste before, she couldn’t take in the natural beauty of the king’s lands, but her gaze was filled with awe as she was led through. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful…” It was only a whisper, and while the guard never commented, couldn’t help but agree with her. Upon reaching the courtyard, she curtsied to the guard as he departed and drifted outside. It was warmer that day, and she was grateful considering her state of dress. Sara shook her head again, wishing she had the ability to tuck her wings away at will once more.

She was alone again, not noticing that the king was already there, watching from the shadows as her wings fluttered and she padded around nervously, searching for… well, she was probably looking for him. Thranduil had briefly thought about assigning someone else to harness the girl’s gifts, whatever they were, but he was determined to ensure she stayed within the confines of the lands, prohibiting her escape. He refused to let those filthy dwarves lay a finger on her, greedy creatures that they were. It led him to the conclusion that no one could better find out her extensive abilities than if he trained her himself. Just as she stepped further in, she paused upon seeing a statue, and the elven king became rigid. “Oh…” The half-elf, though small, was surprisingly adept at climbing around, shifting the foliage aside. The statue of his wife, long gone but never forgotten. “Such a beautiful queen,” he heard her murmur, and while tempted to tear her away from the likeness, he could hear the sadness in her voice. 

It confused him, more so when she hurriedly went to the ground and found flowers, picking a variety and laid them at the feet of the statue. “Goodbye. I would like to visit you again, if I’m able.” Sara continued to drift through the courtyard, searching everywhere she could for Thranduil, or someone, curious if she had more lessons or if she would be confined to her chambers. The rabbit appeared again, hopping to her vigorously. “Hello again,” she stroked its ears to calm herself as she searched the grounds. “Do you know where the king is? Or if anyone’s out here?” It was a gentle whisper, and once the king had calmed himself, confused and conflicted about this alien girl, had drifted to find her worriedly searching around with that oversized rabbit in her arms. “Gods… where is everyone…?” 

Would she even dare attempt escape? Anyone held against their will would try exactly that, and from her expressions, her fear of him, it was logical that she would try to flee, but… she didn’t set the rabbit down. Instead, she peered around various places, softly calling for someone to answer. Unable to find a living soul beyond the wildlife, Sara sat on a bench, the rabbit to her chest, and as Thranduil kept his gaze on her, was struck by the loneliness on her features. The rabbit seemed to sense her distress and pushed against her neck, letting her embrace it. “I wish I was better at this…” Her voice broke, and he watched as her shoulders shook, briefly, then she cleared her throat. “I don’t even know where to begin,” she sighed. “But I can’t get started like this. I wonder…” 

He watched as she placed the rabbit at her feet, searching the grass and causing his head to tilt. What was she doing? Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Thranduil cleared his throat, stepping in the open. “You either possess more wit than you will display, or you are truly the cautious sort. Which is it that prevents you from trying to flee? Most would still test the rumors despite the warnings.” She visibly flinched as a gasp left her, hazel meeting ice blue as the king announced his presence. “I… I have heard the rumors, even where I come from, my King, but I… thought it best not to test them.” As she spoke, she shifted her right leg from view, covering her scar. “Then you possess wit. A fine trait, certainly,” the closer he stalked toward her, he noticed she appeared ready to bolt, but the girl remained where she was, and the woodland king was once again taken aback by her lack of height. 

While her ears were certainly elven, delicate little things even with the jewelry, her wings and height were nothing of the sort, but even humans were almost the height they were. Perhaps it was the thing she called herself, part faerie, that hindered her growth. “But I cannot help wondering if this wit you possess is aimed toward a much larger goal. Speak plainly, Aranel.” Sara coughed as if caught off-guard, and for a moment, the elven king believed she was one of the Nazgûl with a potent enchantment, but she shook her head. “I… I don’t know what I want, sire,” by the way she clutched her skirts, she spoke the truth. “I know I don’t belong, I know I’m not welcome. I don’t even know how I got here, or if I have a home anymore. I know I can’t fight those orcs, and whatever power you say you feel within me, I don’t even know where to begin, I…” She took a shuddering breath, then another, craning her neck to meet his gaze. 

“I want answers, but...” Sara’s voice had become soft, as if she were ashamed of herself. “I don’t even know where to start looking.” He gestured his head for her to follow, his expression unreadable. “You must first work through one question at a time. What is it you want to know most in this very moment?” She pursed her lips, briefly glancing toward her feet to find the bunny hopping along with them, but her mind sifted through her questions. ‘W-Well… the-the most pressing ones that I can think of would probably take awhile, my King, I… I want to know how I got here and why I can’t remember, and… if I can hide my wings at will.” She’d spoken so quietly, Thranduil barely heard her, but his focus was on her as they walked to a clearing. At first, he didn’t understand why she wished to hide what she was, then it occurred to him- much like the dragon-fire scars that covered half his face, concealed by an enchantment, she didn’t want people looking at her as if she were something to be frightened of or gawked at. 

“Do you wish to learn nothing of the power within you?” A sound stuck in her throat. Was the question more for her, or him? Hazel met pale blue, the girl biting her lip but didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I do, my King. I… I always wondered what that would be like, and… if it’s there, I… I want to see if…” She began to feel awkward, twisting a lock of hair absentmindedly with her fingers. “I want to see what it can do, if it can be worth anything.” _Just so you feel worthy, wanted, appreciated._ Her eyes had averted, so she didn’t see the elven king’s eyebrow raise with intrigue. She wanted the same thing, but unlike her, he felt the power in her. He felt how strong it was, pressing against his temples with a force that almost made him stagger, almost that of a wizard’s magic. “It’s not a question of _if,_ Aranel,” they were further within the clearing, almost at the center when he stopped, facing her. “It is a matter of learning how to open yourself to allow it to come forth.” Confusion passed over her features again, not knowing where or how to even open herself up. 

She knew elves were able to open their minds, as were wizards- they could communicate telepathically, but… The task seemed impossible. “H-How… I don’t know…” Thranduil took languid strides around her, looking over her in entirety as he had before. Fear often made a person withdraw, and that forbade her from letting anyone in. “Fear not, Aranel, for I have an option that would benefit you greatly. Your first task is to become more at ease. The tension within you is palpable, and it inhibits your ability to find any sense of respite.” Sara bit her lip, a heavy breath escaping. _Okay, relax. I need to relax, that’s all. But how am I supposed to do that around the king?_ “It… I don’t know if I can, my King.” She could see his expression soften as he regally glided around her, assessing her. Was it a sincere one, the way his eyes became understanding, or was he manipulating her? He chuckled, bowing his head and stilled in front of her. “Descant such as that will only hinder your endeavors, and that is why I am offering my aid.”

He was going to help her relax? How the hell… Sara didn’t know if that was possible, being who he was. The woodland king was intimidating, she couldn’t understand why he’d want to help her. Worried thoughts circulated in her head. _Perhaps that’s what he wants. My power and to know what’s in my head. Why does he want in my head? Does he think I’m lying about everything? How in the hell can I lie to him? Every time I panic, the truth rolls out and-_ “Well, Aranel? There is nothing to decipher, I’m not speaking in riddles. This can be a small quest you can undertake, if you choose to envision it as such. With my help, you can learn everything you seek to apperceive.” She released a shuddering breath, one she didn’t realize she’d been holding, small hands holding one another in front of her chest. “I can? I… Where do I start? How… how would you help, my King?” His smile grew, pearlescent teeth on clear display, disarming her. That smile made her heart stutter, and her face flushed. 

“In whatever way I would need to, but it would behoove you to listen to everything as I say exactly.” She didn’t know what methods he’d use, and Thranduil never elaborated, but she didn’t see another option. No one else that she’d met in Mirkwood, the few that they were, seemed inclined to even glance in her direction. It was only the elven prince, Legolas, maybe a guard or two, and the king before her. He watched with curiosity, his smile smaller as she mulled over her lack of options before she tucked her head down and bit her lip. The gesture, innocent enough, oddly sparked within the elven king, and he wondered how soft those lips were if he were to bite them himself. “I…” And her voice, when it grew small as it did in that moment, so did the odd sensation, twisting in his stomach. “I accept, my King,” she curtsied, her head low when she continued. “Command me as you wish.” 

She didn’t see a darkness settling in his pale eyes, nor the way his grin shifted. Composed as ever, the elven king took her arm, startling her and she tensed, hazel meeting icy blue. The touch was gentle, as if he were merely seeking to get her attention, and she swallowed several times, fighting the overwhelming urge to place her hands on his chest. “You should be aware, with your agreement to open your mind with my help, there will be nothing I won’t know about you.” Fuck. Her features darkened, brightening her eyes before she hurriedly looked away. Though she didn’t try to remove her arm from his large hand completely wrapped around it. _Jesus, his hands are massive! His fingertips touch around my upper arm! Fucking tall, sexy, elvish bastard._ “I have nothing to hide, sire.”

Her voice was calmer and more confident than she felt, but it seemed to please the elven king, who then released her arm. Once his warmth was gone, she felt colder, somehow more hollow. “Somehow, _Dilthen gwilwileth_ , I doubt your claim. Every soul hides something they don’t wish for others to see.” She swallowed thickly, eyebrows knit together in confusion, then drifted to… ah, there it was. She _did_ have something to hide, and the king was nothing if not diligent. He would find out what she seemed so panicked over. “You’re excused for the day, Aranel. I must make preparations.” He flicked his wrist, and a guard appeared, seemingly from nowhere, ready to escort her inside. “Th-thank you, my King.” The guard placed a fist over his heart, then led Sara away, the girl having to move a little faster to match the long strides of the elf. Thranduil smirked, leaving for his study to discuss partnerships with the outlying lands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am well aware certain things are not where they should be, so that's my fault and I apologize. Namely, the lovely statue of his late wife. So I apologize for the confusion. And, I will remind everyone, a lot of things, like abilities and such, are not canon in the Tolkien Universe. Also, I am currently working on my forensics assignments for my college classes, so I apologize for the rush in posting. I will make amends and changes once I'm finished. Thank you all for understanding <3


	6. Chapter 6

Sara remained in her chambers for the rest of the day. Even when a guard announced supper was to be served and she was allowed to dine with the nobility, she politely declined. “Please… tell His Majesty I mean no offense, but I do not wish to be slandered by those who know nothing about me.” She wasn’t like them, and though she was told to take pride in uniqueness, the insults would hurt, she knew they would. Not only was she small, but her wings would cause them to wag their fingers, so would the garments the king had her wear to accommodate them. They floated idly on her back as she began to read, hearing another knock at the door. Anxiety welled in her chest as she padded carefully to the door, startling when she heard the voice. Legolas. “ _ Nin híril _ , you weren’t in the hall for supper. Are you unwell?” He was checking on her? That was sweeter than she expected of the elven prince, and she cracked the door open. “O-Oh, Prince Legolas… I’m fine, really, I… I did not wish to be mocked by those dining with your father.”

Another understanding gleam passed through his eyes, and he held up a plate, laden with food. “But surely, you’re hungry?” Just from the scent, her stomach knotted painfully. She hadn’t eaten all day, too nervous about the king. “I… I am a little hungry,” she admitted, noting the vibrancy of each portion. Greens that seemed to still live, with a morsel of fish, cooked in a way that made her think it had been seared to perfection, her mouth watering. Sara opened the door, neither bothering to close it once the elven prince had entered, and he took a chair while handing the plate to her. She immediately sat on the bed, piercing a piece of fish with her fork, unable to stifle the groan of approval once it passed her lips. “So you were  _ that  _ hungry,” Legolas chuckled, almost teasing. Sara’s face turned scarlet and she tucked her head down. “I… I didn’t think I was, good prince, but it is also quite delicious.” As the prince relaxed around her, she began to do the same, nipping into her food as a friendliness settled in the room. 

“You are… not what I expected,” the prince murmured, thumbing over a book she’d left on the nightstand. Confused, Sara tilted her head, neither aware that the guards were listening- well, she didn’t think they were, Legolas knew they were, and that they would report to his father. “I’m not? I… don’t understand. What did you expect me to be?” He shifted, gazing around the room. “In truth? A spy, in the very least, and a rather convincing one. What tales have you told my father?” She bit her lip, a heavy sigh escaping before she told him word for word everything she’d spoken to Thranduil. How she came from another world entirely, that the Middle Earth she knew of was mere fiction, a dream world, and of what she was. The elven prince, however, was fascinated that she came from somewhere else altogether, wondering about the smallest details. He was mystified, however, upon her admitting humans were the only race in her world, that elves, dwarves, orcs and the like didn’t exist. “And so you were human where you come from?”

When she nodded, the mystery grew in his gaze. “I was, and even then, still out of place. I usually kept to myself and would write a lot, or read. I never felt like I belonged out there. I had a friend, she lived… thousands of miles away from me, almost half a world, and we used to talk, but…” He understood then and became somber. “You’ve no way of speaking to her.” She shook her head. “So… I told your father the truth. I had no one. No one close by in the physical sense.” Though that wasn’t his intentional direction, the prince couldn’t help his next question. “And that would mean no lover, no husband.” She bit her lip, shaking her head once more with a resigned sigh. “Nobody, Your Highness.” Though once the king had been given the news that the girl would not come to his dining hall to eat, Thranduil’s eyes lit up, infuriated. Immediately, he left the hall, storming through to her chambers and heard soft murmurs upon spotting her door open. 

The guards bowed immediately, and before Sara had time to even tense, the king was in her room. His eyes bore a fury that was all too familiar from the day before, and Legolas stood, bowing, prompting the half-elf to stand as well, offering a low curtsey. It was as though her actions angered him further, and the king’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you are, refusing an invitation from me, your  _ king _ ?” He hissed, almost growling as he stalked toward her, backing her against the wall. “I…” Tense, she raised her arms to shield herself, but the Thranduil took her wrist, roughly pulling her from the wall. “You behave no better than the dwarves,  _ Dilthen gwen _ , and if you insist on acting as such, you can spend time in my dungeons as one. It makes no difference to me.” She yelped, eyes stinging and shook her head. “N-No, I… I-I’m sorry, my King! I… I just-”

“Oh, the guard was quite informative, do not think he wasn’t. Telling me how you did not wish to be insulted by my court. Allow me to inform you that what you want holds no sway over me. You are alive because I allow it, our bargain holds because I wish it to.” Renegade tears fell from her eyes as he threw her to a guard, seemingly with no effort, the guard taking her by the arm and pulling her to the dungeons. She was thrown into a cell, the thing cramped and bare, holding herself as the guard left. He’d been nicer to her before, why… she remembered then that the elven king did not take rejection or refusals lightly, and felt as though she’d struck him, only to be struck in return. Nestling herself in the corner of the cell, she sank to her knees, silent tears streaming from her eyes as she tried to determine how long he would keep her down there. 

Thranduil, meanwhile, stormed from the girl’s chambers in aggravation, hearing his own son jogging to catch up. “ _ Ada _ , she has no one. Shouldn’t she at least have one person in this place who can be a confidante?” The king froze, turning his glare to the prince. “And you think it would be you who grants such a kindness? We are all alone in some form, Legolas, she would do well to ignore such childish fantasies and stick to her word.” Legolas, frustrated, stormed in front his father, the two only feet from one another. “And she has! You’ve no regard that she has kept every word to you she’s made! Yet you’ve granted her nothing in the way of yours.” The king bristled, sneering at his son. “She could seek to destroy our entire homeland, and your biggest concern is allowing her  _ friendship _ ? We do not know if she is what she claims to be!”

“And we do not know that she isn’t!  _ Ada _ , you’ve seen her- she is  _ terrified  _ of you. If her claims to have no one are in fact truth, then she has no way of contacting anyone outside.” Neither spoke for a time, and Legolas used that moment to leave. In his quarters, the king growled in frustration. The girl was, in fact, frightened each time he was near, and the guards stationed outside her chambers relayed nothing of her speaking to anyone. She could stay down there til morning, he was still too angered by just the thought of her. And his own son defending the half-breed. It was some sort of degenerate’s idea of humor, surely, but she wasn’t dwarven- at least, she claimed not to be. Thranduil continued to pace in his chambers, the wine disappearing faster and faster, his thoughts drifting to his late wife. Sighing heavily, he retired for the night.

* * *

She froze in the dungeons, unable to sleep the entire night when a guard returned the next morning, unlocking her cell. She couldn’t read his expression, didn’t know if he was angry or not, but he didn’t drag her, that meant something. Weary, as they ascended up and away from the cold darkness of the Mirkwood dungeons, her vision wavered, almost falling from the path when the guard caught her, putting her upright. “You fall down there, no one will be able to reach you. Wake up!” Sara gasped, blinking several times as her heart thundered against her ribs and began drifting further upward. An armor stand was on display as they continued, and as the half-elf stumbled, the guard catching her once more, she brushed against the armor, searing her skin. Anguish filled her and a sharp scream left her lips, tears filling her eyes. What  _ was  _ that? “Why are you scream- oh.” 

The guard saw a burn down the length of her arm, angry and threatening to crack as tears slipped down her cheeks. “What are you playing at, half-breed? That’s simple iron armor!” A sob became strangled in her throat as he pulled her on and she winced, desperately attempting to ignore the pain. Iron? She’d almost forgotten- iron burns faeries. “What are you?” If she wasn’t in such pain, she would have scoffed, thinking everyone in the castle knew by that point. “Part faerie,” she panted, grinding her teeth. Her tears continued to fall as the guard led Sara up the extensive wooden path to the king’s throne, abruptly releasing her and she landed on her knees, grunting. Thranduil was reclined in his throne, the resplendent sight something she could only dream of, but her arm was screaming at her, as if it were ablaze.  _ Stop crying, stop crying, stop fucking crying. He’s not going to care.  _

The guard didn’t even speak, merely taking his position at the door, and Sara hunched over to shield her wet face from view. “By the weariness, am I to assume correctly that you haven’t slept, Aranel?” Sara nodded to the king’s question, not trusting her voice. “Y-Yes, my King,” she finally whispered. He stood from the magnificent throne and languidly drifted down the steps, head tilted curiously. She was quaking, she refused to raise her eyes, and she seemed to favor one side. Had his guards done something? “If I were to offer another invitation to you again, I believe you’re now less inclined to deny my request.” Her breath shook, but she didn’t move, and her face wasn’t visible. While some deemed that a sign of respect, Thranduil wanted her eyes on him. “I… I won’t, my King. N-Never again…” Satisfaction once again lit his stormy gaze, but frustration was present, stalking around her as predatory as the first time, and she was still whispering.

“I expect you to look at me, Aranel.” Dread made her still entirely, and as the king stood before her, Sara barely lifted her eyes, showing him the crystalline tears that stained her face. “I was under the impression you understood how effective tears are-” But he paused. She was holding her arm, and though she tried to hide it, Thranduil could see the angry red splotches and searing that warred with her pale skin, covering most of her from shoulder to fingertip. “All of you, save for Aranel, leave. Now.” She swallowed, turning her gaze to the beautiful, artistic floor as every guard left her with the elven king. Her breaths hitched- what would he do? She saw how he looked over her burn, would he make it worse for her refusing to eat in the dining hall? Once the two were alone, he knelt in front of her, taking her arm. Sara flinched, a strangled sound caught in her throat as he traced over the length of it. 

Despite touching over it, the king was painfully gentle, analyzing and attempting to assess what could have made such marks. Some pieces of armor from his hall bore the same marks that were burned into her tender flesh, and his stormy gaze fell on her face. “How came you by these burns?” No fire burned near the armor displays, and he began piecing together which sets were made from which material. “I-Iron…” She was panting, trembling still, and her lip quivered. She was holding back tears. “Iron burns faeries, m-my King. As… as much as fire does.” There was a shift in his calculating eyes, concern replacing the analytical and his arm was around her waist. “Stand up, Aranel. Walk with me.” Thranduil helped her stand, and as much as her legs shook, Sara was leaning against him for support, though she tried to walk on her own, not wanting to burden anyone. “Don’t exert yourself needlessly, you’ll find it’s not worth the strain. I know the wrath of fire, more so, if we are to be honest.” She sniffed, already aware the elven king had suffered worse than she ever had, swallowing thickly. “I… I won’t say it hurts, m-my King. Not when… not when others have dealt with much worse.” 

“You’ve known loss, have you not?” She grew quiet at his question, hazel eyes pained as she thought over her losses in life, her father being the most painful. “My eyes don’t deceive me. You too have suffered greatly, it still burns within your gaze. Who was it, Aranel?” With a heavy swallow, she shook her head. “It… it is past, my lord. I… would plead you to not make me speak of it.” Thranduil had taken her to a room similar to the one she’d been healed in, after he revealed her wings. “Very well,” he brought her to sit, careful of her wings and began searching through various shelves along the walls. “Though I will know once you’ve opened your mind to me.” Her burn throbbed and she hissed, grimacing before gritting her teeth. “Y-Yes, my King.” Things were placed into a bowl and he began crushing them, the thing barely able to contain the herbs within. “And you are still honoring our bargain? Perhaps you’re less like the dwarves than I’d imagined.” 

Sara scoffed then, hazel eyes conflicted but bitter. “They make good warriors and possess fine gems, but they’re greedy and can’t be trusted.” She spat the reply, grinding her jaw from the pain in her arm. A different sort of smile lit the king’s features, pleased with her remark but curious as to why she spoke so vehemently if she’d never encountered one. “You tell me the world you come from possesses only humans, nothing more, yet you would reject the dwarven culture immediately. Instinct, or have you not been honest with me?” Pained hazel met his stormy gaze, the king’s eyes almost steel in the low light, yet she saw each feature perfectly. “Books, my lord. I’ve read books, that is all.” Thranduil took the mixture from the bowl in his hands. “Hold out your arm, this will sting, but it will mend the burns.” Confusion lit her features, but the half-elf did as she was told, shakily extending her arm and stifling a whimper from the throbbing ache. 

The mixture was cool as he spread it over her arm, but when she first sighed in relief, it shifted to her holding her breath, the stinging filling her entire body as he began to speak lowly, focused only on her arm. The king was murmuring in ancient Elvish, working the herb paste over the entire burn and her hands clenched, the girl panting and forcing herself not to shout. It was only a few moments, but it felt like an eternity before he’d finished, wrapping cloth bandages around her arm. Her forehead glistened from the effort before, but… almost instantly, the pain was dissipating. Bewildered, she ran her fingers over the bandages as Thranduil wiped his hands clean. “Healing is not my finest point, but the burns should be healed in the next day or two.” In only two days?! Sara’s mouth fell open, quaking as the adrenaline began to leave her. As she shook her head to clear it, a groan escaped and she gripped the table he’d set her on. 

Thranduil was distracted, mulling over what she refused to speak of, wondering who it was that she’d lost. The pain was familiar, similar, for he too bore his own agony. Her distrust of dwarves was as well.  _ Perhaps she can prove to be a benefit _ . It certainly wouldn’t hurt to have more allies. “Are you capable of walking back to your chambers?” Sara cleared her throat, still nervous around the elven king but inclined her head. “I… I believe so, my King,” she murmured, almost whispering. She inched herself from the table, wings fluttering as she did so, and though she wavered, she steeled herself to make the small journey. “Thank you. I… don’t know if I can ever really say it properly, but… it means a lot to me.” Briefly, he was confused, unsure of what she meant, but before he could ask, she’d left, and he heard her asking a guard to make sure she got to her room. He wasn’t aware that Sara still sought to gain at least his trust. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, not all events in my story are canon in Tolkien's Universe, so if what I've written irritates anyone, my apologies, but I'm sticking to my story.

Sara was left to her chambers the following two days, and on the third morning, her arm began to itch, the herb paste crusted and flaking from her skin. Where it had disappeared, her skin was pink, healthy, as if it were brand new and she’d never been burned to begin with. Hurriedly, she began unraveling the bandage, stepping toward the small basin on the vanity and washed the dried paste from her arm. No pain, no marks, no evidence of any sort to show she’d interacted with any iron. Thranduil healed her. “Not proficient in healing, my ass,” she murmured in awe. A giddy smile began to spread over her features, extending her arm, wiggling her fingers and clenching them, finding they were better than okay, they were perfect! As she marveled at the elven medicine that could have been magic, which might have been, a maid entered, visibly sneering at the girl. “His Majesty wishes you to know if your wound has healed, that you’ll attend your duties as normal,” she spat, and a wicked glee found its way in the maid’s eyes. When the half-elf thought that would be it, the woman threw the gown on her bed and stormed to her, towering over her.

“You’re nothing, do you understand, _lhingril_ ? The only reason you live is because His Majesty still finds you to be some sort of sport, entertainment, nothing more. You won’t last once he tires of you, and believe me, he tires of pests quickly.” Sara’s mouth fell open, and the maid, satisfied, sauntered from her chambers with a wicked smile. “ _Bitch_ ,” the half-elf hissed, swallowing her temptation to shout at the maid despite how much the woman’s words hurt her. She dressed herself, careful of her wings as she slipped into a white gown, one that added more coverage. Sara sighed in relief, she didn’t feel so exposed then. As the guard escorted her to the library, her wings shifted to a color of pale diamonds, reminding her of jewels the way they floated, as if they sparkled on their own. Despite how the dress settled over her, she kept her arms around herself, hair resting around her shoulders as she quietly stepped into the library. Thranduil wasn’t there. Well, if he was, she didn’t see him, but the books she needed were already laid on the table.

She assumed someone had done it, knowing she’d have to work more, harder, more likely. As Sara translated the texts, murmuring to memorize them, she didn’t hear the steps behind her. A hand was on her shoulder then and she whirled, feeling the press of a blade against her throat. This woman possessed hair of fire, an intensity in eyes of jade. Swallowing thickly, the half-elf’s breaths trembled, searching the woman’s gaze. _Tauriel?_ “I don’t know what you are, but you had better explain why you are here, reading our texts, _translating_ them. Is this for your own leisure? Are you preparing a siege? Speak!” Her voice was venomous, but she couldn’t blame the woman- no one really trusted her, or anyone that wasn’t another elf. “I… I was ordered to- His Majesty- he told me to learn!” 

Tauriel retreated a step, twirling her blade effortlessly and sheathed it at her hip, disbelieving. “You are the one Prince Legolas has spoken of,” she mused aloud, looking over Sara’s wings. “The… what did you refer to yourself as, part ‘faerie’? How do I know you’re not some Nazgûl under a powerful concealment charm?” A small sound stuck in the half-elf’s throat, searching those jade eyes carefully. “I… I don’t know how to-to prove what I am to any of you,” she replied, her tone weary. “I know none of you trust me and I understand, but… I’m _trying_ . I’m trying to learn, to hold my bargain with the king, to figure out how I’m supposed to unlock whatever power he says he senses in me, and I don’t even know where to begin. Maybe something in one of these books can tell me where or how, but I don’t know. I’m useless, for everything that counts. I still can’t remember how I got here without it hurting to even _try_ recalling it. All I can remember is writing a story and the next thing I know, I’m running from orcs in these woods until the prince and a few others slew them and brought me here. Now I’ve been here for a month with nothing to show for it!” 

Panic welled within her then, tears rimming her eyes as she turned away from the redhead, sighing in frustration with herself and her situation. Tauriel, however, retreated another step, her expression conflicted and sympathetic. “If what you say is true, then you must have shown _some_ kind of potential.” Sara scoffed then, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. “No, I seriously just think the king is patient enough not to kill me for the time being.” The huntress didn’t have an answer- she knew all too well of Thranduil’s cruelty, his coldness, as he often gave her backhanded remarks before dismissing her. “Well, that remains to be seen then. So…” Hazel met green, mistrustful but curious. “Legolas said you’re half-elven, that you’re also part human and this ‘faerie’ race, but… is that why you’re so small in stature?” _Fuckin… more height cracks._ The girl choked on a laugh, shrugging her shoulders. “Probably, I really don’t know. I was short even where I came from, and I was human then.” 

“Truly?” It was the elven woman’s turn to be filled with awe, a small quirk of her lips. When Sara nodded, Tauriel softened, looking over the tomes. “Has anyone taught you the script?” The smaller girl, panicked, waved her hands and the other became slightly dejected. “Please,” she whispered, standing next to her. “Please don’t think I don’t appreciate the help. I do, I promise, it’s just…” Hazel eyes scoured the library, noting the king was nowhere to be seen. “Prince Legolas tried helping me before and it… didn’t go so well. I… I don’t want either of us in trouble, but I really mean that I’m grateful for the help.” The rejection disappeared from those grass green orbs, and a soft smile spread over her features. “You’re certainly learning, in any case.” A question occurred to the small girl then, gaze shifting between the books and the redhead. “I thought… I thought His Majesty had said you were on another orc mission that needed his son’s help?” 

Tauriel seemed grateful to have another ear, but sighed heavily. “There wasn’t one,” she spoke in hushed tones. “The king was angry, nothing more. There _is_ , however, another mission we will be leaving on in a month, after the feast.” Confusion lit in hazel eyes, the girl tilting her head. “Feast? What feast?” Just as the elven woman leaned closer to speak, both were startled upon hearing a sharp command. “Tauriel!” Thranduil had entered the library, silent as the grave and Sara wondered how, with all those robes, did he not make a single fucking sound. He snapped at the redhead in Elvish, ordering her to leave, to quit disturbing the girl, and for a moment, Tauriel paused, a gleam in her eyes as if she wanted to argue. He was the king, she knew better, and she left after deciding better of it. Pale blue watched the elven huntress depart, then turned his focus on Sara, something unreadable once again in his gaze. Was he offended by something? Did she do something wrong? 

Biting her lip, she turned to her work, hands trembling as Thranduil ran his fingers over the spines still on the shelves. While she tried focusing, his eyes would drift back to her, a fire lit behind his gaze. That dress… her wings… both were far too close to the shade of those gems he still sought, the ones of pure starlight that he’d yet to receive from the dwarven king. Yet the elf remained unsure if he was angry with her, or if the color suited her. While the latter was true, the loss of his wife began to churn something dark within him. This small girl appeared as though she were an embodiment of the moon itself, hair resembling the darkest night while her wings and skin shone with mystery. And her power thrummed in the room, yet she still remained oblivious to its potential. “Have you yet memorized anything from your translating, Aranel?” He took leisurely strides, standing close to the table, watching her work and noted she retained that same withdrawn state near him. 

“I… I’ve learned a little, my King,” she admitted softly, her fingers fidgeting. “N-Not as much as I probably should, though.” Humming thoughtfully, he plucked one of the pieces of parchment from the table that she’d worked on and read over it. The mistakes had been corrected by her own hand and a smirk slid over his features. “Don’t be in such a hurry, you’ve only been working three days. It takes time for anyone to learn a new language, no one immediately understands all of it on the first try.” She inclined her head, closing her eyes briefly as she willed herself to calm down, timidly meeting his gaze. He was smiling at her, and she couldn’t detect a hint of malice. Her heart stuttered- that smile could fell armies, and she hurriedly looked to her hands to replace everything before he could see the flush on her features. “I suppose that’s always been a problem with me, sire, I always work to learn as much as possible in little time.” 

“Admirable though that might seem for many, it only exhausts you quicker. Replace things as they were and accompany me for the afternoon.” Sara’s mouth fell open, but did as she was told, capping the inkwell and replacing the quill, her parchment set aside, neatly arranged, the books closed and stacked. While the king left the library, she followed suit, her fingers twisting in front of her, wondering why he wanted her around him for the day. “Be mindful of Tauriel,” he warned over his shoulder, meeting her eye. “She seeks to implant fantasies in the heads of those she speaks with, a dreamer.” Confused, she didn’t utter a sound, and another smirk played over the king’s lips. “Walk alongside me, Aranel, or are your legs too small to keep my pace?” _This motherfucker. He’s really teasing me!_ A brief sound escaped and she flushed the shade of beets, her legs moving quicker to keep up. “I… I did not wish to seem as if I was aiming above my station, my King.” 

His eyebrow rose, the smirk still present as he waved his hand to gesture the rest of the extensive pathways around them. “And what do you believe is your station, then? Do you find yourself to be my servant, or my equal? Usually agreements are entered upon by two forces equal in some manner.” She almost lost her footing. In the midst of admiring his home, listening to him speak, she never expected Thranduil of the Greenwood to hint that she was equal in any way, especially when people knew she was only half-elven. “O-Oh, well I… I’m not royalty, my lord, and… and I’m only half-elf.” _Certainly not good enough to be accepted._ “And you think that makes you less of anything? _Dilthen gwilwileth_ , it’s clear to me you think nothing kind of yourself, yet you seek to earn approval from those around you. I’ve yet to see anything in you that would suggest you are unworthy of such, but you must also garner your own approval.” 

_Ouch_. Sara bit her lip, peering up at the king. He really saw all that, the way she couldn’t stand herself? She hadn’t opened her mind to him yet, but he truly was perceptive. “I…” What could she say? If she told him the truth, that people often used her and just filled her head with hope before cutting her down, it would seem like a grab for pity, but if she said nothing, it would seem like a rebuttal. “What life you must have had to think of yourself in such a way.” Her pain, while similar to his in some manner, also differed in the same aspect- she had suffered, but to what length? A complicated strand in an ever-growing coil. He saw, in his peripheral, that her jaw had set, as if he’d struck a nerve. “I… do not know what to say, my King,” she murmured, arms around herself. “But I cannot complain. My life hasn’t been easy, but I don’t want to seem like I’m searching for pity. It wasn’t the worst life, I just… could never befriend the right people.” Only one, and she had no way of speaking to her. 

“Betrayal would be a constant in your days, then. I understand that. Too often have I placed my trust and friendship in others who would seek to only further themselves. Perhaps that is where our bargain can be of some use. You will see that you have nothing to fear unless you do not honor what we’ve struck, or if you lie to me.” With no memory of how she arrived there, nor with anywhere else to go, as well as several other issues, Sara knew the king wouldn’t hesitate to end her life if she did either of those things, but she had never lied to him yet. The very idea seemed to churn her stomach. “I don’t like lying,” she replied, watching the light peek through the branches above them. “It ruins everything. Lying, stealing, and cheating. I was raised better than that.” As Thranduil led her to more even ground, the two drifting around the trees on the grounds, his icy blue gaze sparked with approval and he inclined his head, his smile growing. “Then we have nothing to fear. Now, what Elvish are you able to speak?”

As he guided her through the grounds, she admitted to learning very little. “Then speak what you know.” Her eyes widened briefly, hands twisting in front of her. “ _Im am o a haradren dór. Nin est- na- Aranel.”_ Both eyebrows lifted, and he smirked as though he were impressed. “You’ve learned more than I expected, though your nervousness is apparent. Listen to what I say and repeat after me.” Thranduil began to speak in Elvish, only singular words at first, and Sara repeated each one to the best of her ability. She was silently ecstatic to learn all she could, and by the woodland king, of all people. He proved a great teacher, each time she fumbled, he would let her try again, nodding his approval before he’d change to something else. They continued to walk through the grounds as he taught her, teaching her what various things meant, the proper way to pronounce them, and she noticed a stag following him once they were in the courtyard. He saw her eyes light up with each word or phrase, the admiration in those hazel orbs along with restrained excitement. 

After a few hours, he brought her to the clearing. “Stand in the center, Aranel. We are going to ensure you are able to learn physical discipline.” Her eyebrows knit together, but Sara did as she was told, worry snaking up her spine. Would he strike her, or hurt her in some way, was that his goal? In the midst of her thoughts, she didn’t notice the elven king had stepped behind her, fingertips tracing her wings again. Startled, she jumped, but Thranduil’s head was beside hers, leaning in a way that pressed her wings closer together. “Remember to breathe. Clear your mind. As with any warrior’s training, success is not measured in brute force, but the capacity to reason in battle.” While she didn’t consider herself a warrior, she didn’t speak against him. He was always referred to in her books as the mightiest warrior, the Great King of the Greenwood. That meant he was the best of the best, and his training would be the best anyone could get. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes as he straightened, the girl rolling her head to shake the nerves away. When she opened them, he was standing beside her, the two only a foot or so apart.

“I want you to move as I move,” his tone was stern, his bright, golden hair dazzling under the sun. Compared to him, she felt like a blot of ink. “Move as I move, and mimic the stance I take.” He seemed to take in mind that she wore a dress, moving in a way where nothing would reveal itself, yet her nerves made her rigid. Thranduil sighed, standing behind her then and placed his hands on her hips, one trailing to her thigh and moved it a few inches forward. Sara had to stifle the surprised yelp, but couldn’t control her blush. “Keep your spine straight,” he murmured, his grip firm on her thigh. “And lock your legs. I can already feel the untrained muscle has some fortitude, but we will need to hone it properly.” His other hand drifted down the front of her other leg, pushing it back and the muscle tensed. “I… Y-Yes, my lord.” She was breathless, barely able to form a coherent thought so long as his hands remained on her. His hands had moved to her inner thighs, trailing to her knees. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…_

He’d barely touched her and she wanted to collapse, her stomach tightening as the flush darkened to the shade of beets. “Keep your feet shoulder-width apart,” he finally took his hands from her and she wavered, catching herself and tucked her head down, then met his gaze once more. “There, that’s it. You’ll be doing minimal stretches for now until we can find you something more suited for this sort of training.” She nodded, holding her stance and felt her thigh and calf burning from the effort, but willed herself to keep it as it was. “Wh-what is this training for, my lord? I… I thought you just needed to help me unlock my power.” Chuckling, he took a few steps, circling her, then flicked his wrist for her to switch legs. “Your power will require physical endurance, just as much as it will your mind. Both must be disciplined if you seek to harness that which resides within you.” Swallowing, she’d switched legs and nodded, keeping the position until he’d made her do it again. He watched carefully as she did as he instructed, the woodland king pleased she listened better than Tauriel ever had, and when he let her finish for the day, hours had passed. 

Weary, her legs trembled, and she held her arms out to balance herself for a moment. “Aranel,” Thranduil called over his shoulder, a guard appearing from seemingly nowhere once again. “You are to join me this evening for supper in my dining hall. It is not a request. You understand what will transpire if you attempt to refuse.” His remark took the air from her lungs and she stumbled, barely catching herself. “I… y-yes, my King. I-I gave you my word. I will not refuse again.” Satisfied, his smile grew and he confidently strode away, allowing her to return to her chambers briefly. The pitcher in her room as well as the small basin had been replaced with clean water, and the girl hurriedly wiped the sweat from her brow, freshening up as best she could. She’d only been in her room an hour when she was summoned, dread twisting her heart like a vice. “Just… just a moment!” She called to the guard, fixing her hair and the way it lay behind her head. Giving herself another look in the mirror, panic took root and spread, but she knew she had nothing else to fix her state, leaving her chambers to be escorted to the dining hall. 

When she arrived, there were several nobles there that she could see, including Legolas. The table extended for a few yards, allowing over twenty to sit around, most of them drinking Elven wine and laughing amongst themselves. While she wasn’t announced, her entrance was still noticed, everyone falling silent at the sight of her. A small girl with wings in King Thranduil’s court, dressed no better than a concubine. Whispers were buzzing as the guard brought her in, leading her to the king when he flicked his wrist, beckoning her to take his left while Legolas was on his right. Sara kept her eyes lowered, trembling as her hands clenched under the table. The left side of the king’s table… didn’t that have some significance? It was apparent to have meant something, the nobles' whispers were growing, almost hissing. She didn’t like being there, knowing they were slandering her, but she didn’t want to face another night in the cold dungeons below the castle, deep within the earth. 

“My lord, who might this be?” A nobleman asked a few chairs away. “She is not purely elven.” The king had sipped his wine, and as if expecting it, casually straightened in his seat. “She is my guest, and has blood of the fae.” More murmurs began to spread, and Sara wished desperately to make herself invisible, shrinking into the chair. “The fae?” Another wondered, a woman. She was glaring daggers at the girl, jealousy burning bright within her. “I’ve not heard of the fae in my life.” Yet Thranduil kept his composure, more so as the food was served. “Nor have I, until I searched through the tomes of old. We are said to be descendants of the fae, that these woods were once theirs.” Hazel eyes shot up to the king’s pale blue, bewildered and in shock. She’d never heard that before, not once in all the Tolkien books she’d read. “And she has sought to reclaim it!” Another was almost shouting, flushed from the wine. “No, she has not,” the king replied, matter-of-fact. “She was fleeing from a pack of orcs who sought her head, and my soldiers found her upon their patrols. She is here under my protection.” 

The way he spoke the last sentence was a challenge, daring any of them to say another word. No one so much as shifted the wrong way, all more concerned with their meals than with her. Gratefulness shone in her eyes, offering him a timid smile and mouthed her thanks. He smirked, taking another sip of wine and Sara timidly began to eat. The nobleman beside her nudged her, murmuring in her ear. “The king has given you many privileges, has he not?” Unsure of what to say, she turned her focus to Thranduil, but he was speaking to Legolas. “I- uhm… I-I suppose so…?” The man scoffed quietly, then continued. “That would mean you’ve shared the privilege of his bed.” She dropped her fork, eyes rimming with tears and shook her head. Not once had the king ever propositioned her, and because of the dress meant to let her wings free, she was taken for a whore. The elven king saw how her face flushed, a tear slipping down her cheek and glared at the man beside her. It didn’t matter, she’d lost what little appetite she had, thankful she had no wine or she would have burst into tears. 

The man never said another word, but seemed pleased with himself. As the dinner ended, the others thanked the elven king for his hospitality and awaited his dismissal. Thranduil waved his hand for them to go. “Not you, Aranel. Stay, sit down.” Sara returned to her seat, hurriedly wiping the tear from her face and kept her eyes averted. “What was said to you?” A knot rose in her throat and she shook her head too quickly for the king to believe her. “Just this once, I will forgive you lying to me, Aranel, but you _will_ speak to me. He said something to you and I would know what it was.” She drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, swallowing as her hands clasped tight under the table. “H-He…” She bit her lip, hesitant. She didn’t want anyone in trouble because of her, regardless what they said or did, but… she didn’t view herself as important enough to warrant anyone receiving that sort of punishment. “I give you my word as king, you will not be punished for speaking the truth.” 

Her eyes lifted then, meeting his inquisitive and vexed blue. “H-He said that… that I had a lot of… of privileges…” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed briefly, taking another drink of wine. “Well, that is the truth, is it not? You are a guest in my home, it is only natural to be hospitable.” A rogue tear slipped from her eye, then another. “But you aren’t telling me everything.” Sara quickly wiped her eyes, wishing she could run, but there was no way out. The guards heard him tell her to stay, she had no choice. “H-he said one of the privileges was… s-sharing your bed.” A sob stuck in her throat, the noise strangled as more tears fell from her eyes, the girl hiding in her hands as her shoulders shook. She didn’t see the anger flare to life in him, nor the way his hand twitched and flexed like his jaw had. 

She wasn’t blind. Thranduil was more than breathtaking, he was awe-inspiringly gorgeous. The gods themselves would be envious of his beauty, but as much as she liked being able to look at him, she wasn’t the girl who gave herself away so easily. Sex meant more to her than just pleasure, it was her giving herself to someone, becoming vulnerable for another person besides herself. Noticing he hadn’t spoken, she uncovered her face, barely able to see him through her tears and wiped her eyes. “I-I’m sorry, my lord… I-I didn’t want t-to cause any problems.” The anger dissipated from his gaze, compassion replacing his irritation, and he filled a chalice of wine for her. “Why do you apologize for something you are not at fault for?” Sara wearily accepted the chalice, taking a delicate sip to calm her nerves. “I… i-it’s a habit, m-my King. I… I do not wish to see anyone suffer because of me, n-no… no matter how they may treat me.” The chalice trembled in her shaking hands, and she took another small sip, careful to mind how much she drank. 

“Though he spoke to you as if you were no better than carnal filth, you would still wish him benevolence?” Sara inclined her head slightly, eyes burning but no longer in tears. Thranduil sighed, standing from the table and waved his hand for her to do the same. “You are of a tender heart,” he commented as she followed him from the hall, glancing to her over his shoulder. “One that will get you slain if you don’t harden it, which adds to my doubt of what you’ve suffered through.” He didn’t believe her. Hurt flashed over her features, but she cleared her throat, breaths trembling. “I… I choose to stay kind, my King, n-not… not because of my innocence, but… there may be someone who needs it when one least expects.” He smirked, the two walking along the sturdy path, but there was a bristling of his shoulders. “Be mindful of who you offer your kindness to, _Dilthen er_ , not everyone searching for kindness is in need of it. Some wish to take advantage and make you look the fool. What then?”

Sara couldn’t stop the dry, humorless laugh despite his position, hazel eyes disconcerted. “It’s happened before, my lord, but… that’s the problem. Sometimes you can never tell until after things pass.” Thranduil couldn’t fathom how she chose to remain kind in the face of those who would belittle and slander her, but it was a trait he’d seen before. The elven king turned his face from her then, his jaw flexed. His late wife had been that way. “So you choose to leave it to, what then, I wonder? Destiny? Chance? Has there been no time at all where you had forgotten such kindness because the betrayal was too great to bear?” She inclined her head, shoulders sagging. “A few times, but… I’m not perfect. I can only take so much abuse before I withdraw my kindness and leave.” 

“Oh, I understand that, but do you not fight?” Pale blue fell on her then, and he saw she became nervous once more. “I… I’ve tried,” she admitted quietly, almost to herself. “But… but somehow, it was made to seem like my fault. Every time.” He barely heard the last part of her statement, but understood well enough and his expression wasn’t amused. “As you’ve told me so readily only moments ago, you are not perfect, but you surely weren’t to blame for every incident?” Sara chewed her lip again, averting her eyes. “I… don’t know, my lord.” To the woodland king, she was a complicated creature, as if she’d known loss but still remained innocent to most workings in the world, offering to spare someone who would sooner see her in chains. He kept it in mind as he escorted her to her chambers, mulling over adding new disciplines for opening her mind. “It does no good to dwell on the words of the unimportant,” he offered as she stepped in the room. “Those who do often find themselves in a filth they can’t escape.” Sara nodded, giving the king a low curtsey. “Th-thank you, my King. I will make sure to remember that.” 

With a grin, he inclined his head, allowing her privacy as he went to his own chambers for the night, his thoughts on the girl who both confused him and sparked his curiosity, wondering if her emotions would inhibit or harness her powers more. He thought of the tomes he’d read on the fae, that scribes had thought them their ancestors. If it was true, then how did that part of her line survive? What bloodline was her Elvish nature? Pouring himself a glass of wine, Thranduil sought to drown the questions that seemed to appear with no end or answer, but he was given the opposite. The more he drank, the more questions he had. Enough time had passed, she should have been asleep, and he left the sanctity of his room, finding himself at her door. It was silent on the other side, he could hear her rhythmic breathing. Then, a shuddering exhale and a whimper. Nightmares? He’d turned to leave when a thought occurred. People sleeping often left their minds open, there was a chance he could see inside her thoughts. 

Quietly, the elven king opened her door, finding her on her side, clutching the sheets. Her wings twitched and shivered, her features contorted into pain. “What are you dreaming of, little one?” He murmured to her sleeping form. With a larger drink of his wine, he set his chalice aside, taking the chair beside her bed and focused on her sleeping face. _Beautiful_ … the thought was unprovoked as he watched her, shaking his head briefly. Clearly, she was beautiful. Anyone observing would admit as such, that was all it was, an observation. From the way her full lips were swollen from biting them, a pale pink that had shifted to the shade of newly opening spring blossoms, her skin, as light as his own, soft as satin but laden with scars that bore no enchantment, and her hair, fine as a raven’s wing yet soft as the down within his pillows. Even her wings that would subtly shift to match the hues of whatever he’d chosen for her to wear were something admirable. 

So focused on her features was Thranduil that he didn’t immediately notice his surroundings shift. She’d disappeared gradually, fading into nothing when he noticed the forest around him. It wasn’t the Greenwood, sick though it was. The forest the elven king found himself in was lush and green, flowers blanketing a small clearing that filled the air with a sweetness of new life. It was spring in her mind. He drifted through silently, ears on alert for any sounds he should be aware of. He heard birds of dusk singing their melodies as the sun set overhead, the squirrels and rabbits running every which way. After a few minutes of wandering, he was struck by the sound of laughter. Bright and happy, it was a music that mixed with the birdsong and brightened the forest around him. Thranduil followed the sound, deeper into the forest and found a light, a campfire, and found her. Sara was sitting on a patch of moss, no wings in sight, her hair braided over one shoulder as if she were a huntress.

The closer he wandered, the more laughter he heard, finding that she was amused by the squirrels teasing the rabbits below. She had a book in her hand- no, a journal, and some artistic, pointed stick that she scribbled over the pages with. Curious, he crept closer, careful not to make a sound, thinking over the pain he’d seen on her sleeping face. If she was laughing in the dream, then why did she look as though she was suffering while asleep? Yet, after her laughter had dissipated, he heard her sniff, wiping her cheeks. So she _was_ crying, after all. “Thank you,” she whispered, extending a trembling hand to the rabbit. “I needed that laugh.” Sara’s head had tilted and Thranduil saw no points on her ears. She was human. Still small, but the ears were unmistakable, and nothing else on her had changed. “Why do you cry?” A childlike voice had sounded, and the elven king began searching for someone smaller than her, but the voice had come from the rabbit. 

Sara lifted it, cradling it to her chest as a sob escaped. “Because everything hurts,” she whispered brokenly, unaware of the king’s presence. “Everything hurts and I can’t make it go away.” A squirrel had crawled from the tree, tilting its head curiously and inched its way closer to the girl. “What do you want to go away?” The rabbit asked. “I miss my dad, he died years ago and I still can’t figure out how to do anything without his guidance. I feel _worthless_. And… and I give my love to others but… but I’ve never known anyone to love me. I just… I want someone to cut my heart from my chest- it wouldn’t hurt like this.” Another sob ripped from her chest and she shook, head down as she wept against the rabbit’s fur. Thranduil’s expression shifted to one of realization and understanding. She missed her father, and she wanted love, never receiving it despite giving it often. “But you’re making friends!” A smaller voice chimed in, the squirrel of all things. “What’s their names are nice!” 

She choked on a laugh and shook her head. “Legolas is a good person, but I don’t think he wants to be my friend. I’m too different.” Both animals protested in unison, and the king had barely caught them speaking out how she shouldn’t close herself off. “I’m trying not to,” she managed through her cries. “But… it’s so hard not to close everyone out, because _no one_ understands.” She didn’t know Thranduil would, that he suffered his own demons, but he never spoke of them to anyone. He turned, finding a door that held light, and he knew that was his exit. He left, not hearing the small animals ask about him, about how she felt about the king, nor hearing her reply that while she wanted to get to know him, she was also afraid.

Her chambers began to reveal themselves, and Thranduil looked over her with quiet understanding. There was no pity in his gaze, but he felt her suffering as if it were his own. He left, placing the blanket up to her shoulders. “Forgive the intrusion, _Dilthen er,_ I do not know what came over me.” He’d retired to his own chambers then, listless with the thoughts of how her suffering matched his own.


	8. Chapter 8

In the fortnight that followed, Thranduil accompanied Sara in the library most mornings, teaching her how to properly speak Sindarin, then Quenyan, explaining to her the differences that were subtle enough in the common tongue, but would mean drastic insult in either dialect. As she learned, she kept notes, but one question persisted. “M-My lord?” His pale blue turned to her, pausing his stride. “You… you can speak Khuzdul, and… would I also be learning that?” He smirked, but inclined his head. “You will learn once you’ve mastered basic conversation in Sindarin, Aranel.” Swallowing, she nodded, but still continued the lessons he taught. In the courtyard, the king had begun physical discipline as well as mental, ensuring she would have proper control of her powers once she could learn to master the exercises. The work was grueling, but she began to improve. “You’re learning,” he commented, watching her with an intrigued expression. “But I’m afraid our lessons will have to wait until tomorrow, after I’ve properly welcomed our guests for the feast.” 

The mention of the feast had been a common occurrence, but Sara remained unsure of which feast it was. “What… what feast is coming, my lord?” He hummed, a smirk on his features and his pale blue gaze had drifted to the sky above, then turned his focus to her. “It is one of the grandest gatherings, the Feast of Harvest,” he replied smoothly. “In just two weeks’ time, the halls of the Greenwood will fill with guests from all over the land to pay their tributes on the bounty they are blessed to receive each season.” Oh… that meant the halls would be filled with people Sara didn’t know. She inclined her head, working more into her physical training to shake her nerves. “Can you dance, Aranel?” Sara stumbled, hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “My King?” As she straightened, his laughter resonated deep in his chest. “I asked if you could dance. Though, by your bewilderment, I’m beginning to think dancing isn’t a strong suit of yours.” 

She immediately shook her head. They’d been speaking together for a few weeks, he’d been kind, cold, and everything in between. He’d teased her for her height among many other remarks, but dancing had never been a topic they’d approached before. With a heavy swallow, the girl shrank in on herself, searching his gaze with more timidness than ever. “N-No, I… I haven’t, my King. I… I don’t dance.” His expression, however, told the half-elf otherwise. “I will expect you to attend the feast each night,” he ordered, though his tone wasn’t biting. “And dancing is a requirement in each gathering. If you do not know how, perhaps you can be taught.” Her eyes averted, color filling her features. Who would teach her? She wasn’t nobility, anyway, why did he expect her to be there? He’d begun viewing her on a more even ground than he had in the beginning, never speaking of when he’d entered her dream to find her broken and alone, but knowing all too well the pain that accompanied such agony. “I will assume your unchanging expression that you are accepting of such. Then, tomorrow, Aranel, your training will change. In the morning, you will learn to dance, and after lunch, you will begin to train your mind. The time that’s passed should have fortified you enough to allow me some entry.” 

She swallowed audibly, her exhale trembling. The time had come- he was going to delve inside her mind, starting the very next day. Thranduil saw every fleck, every ounce of anxiety within her, but if she didn’t learn, fear would guide her forever. It was his intention to break that fear. She was dismissed, and Sara carefully walked behind the guard escorting her. Six weeks. It had been six weeks since she could last remember her own world, or being in it. Since then, since she’d been in Mirkwood, she constantly felt eyes on her, only in the privacy of the chambers provided by the king did she have any reprieve. Once she was inside, she carefully closed the door, adjourning to the washroom and began her own bath in the large crystal tub. The water steamed, almost glittering in its confines, beckoning her to enter, to relax her weary muscles and forget the rest of the day. While she undressed, the faerie had ensured she had a book with her each time, consistently studying everything the king’s library offered. There was an entire world in which she knew nothing of, she wanted some of its knowledge.

She couldn’t stifle the groan as she sank within the crystal, as if it pulled every ache from her figure and released it to oblivion. She soaked for a little while, adding the oils and honey-like concoction that smelled oddly of her favorite flowers, softening her hair and skin to almost newborn softness. After she’d cleaned, Sara removed herself from the tub, her wings flittering to clear the water away as she began to dry, and the dress left for her was a burnt red in hue, vibrant and rich, pinpointing the focus to her eyes and wings. She twisted her hair into a braid over her shoulder when she heard the guards speaking to one another in the hall. “Another Elven king is attending the feast,” one spoke as if it was grand news. “King Rinnion of the Western Lands.” The other outside her door had straightened, she could hear the armor shift. “He’s a new king, isn’t he? Only been in power a hundred years.” The other one chuckled. “Only a hundred years, but it’s said his skill in battle is greatly matched to our King Thranduil.”

Another elven king? Sara wondered who this ‘new’ king was, how scary he would be compared to her host, or if he would be the kind type. “I need to let Anrion know to set up his chambers, King Rinnion is said to be here sometime tomorrow.” So this king would arrive the next day, and already, Thranduil was welcoming guests to his home for the feast which wouldn’t happen for another two weeks. She supposed it was because of how long traveling took, that there were no cars to make the trips quicker. It wasn’t her business, she knew not to ask- she wasn’t of the nobility, it wasn’t her place, and she truthfully wouldn’t mind less people, but… he was the king, and despite how he’d treated her in the beginning, she could see he was fair towards those under his rule and protection. _Damn if his temper isn’t a lethal one, though_ … _Suppose mine would be too, having to oversee literally everything affecting the lives of thousands or so_. 

As she became lost in thought, she’d almost missed the guard knocking at her door. “His Majesty bids you to attend supper again this evening, and tomorrow’s lessons will start in the great hall.” Supper this evening? Gods… please no. Stifling the urge to remain silent, Sara carefully closed her book, peeking from her door. “I… I understand,” she replied softly, fingers twisting behind the door. “Am I to assume I’m being escorted now?” The man inclined his head, leading, and without needing to be told, she followed the guard to the dining hall. Dread coiled within her like a serpent, threatening to snap at the first sign of trouble, and like the last time, her presence wasn’t announced. Her wings, once again, announced her themselves, a glittering shade of red that complimented the gown as the woodland king beckoned her to sit on his left once again. One thing she’d quickly become aware of, being in his home, was that his sword remained at his hip. It was an impressive blade, one she thought was stunning in the very least, and this supper was no different, his hand resting on the hilt.

 _“...she smells of flowers…”_ She heard one of them whisper. As her gaze remained lowered, she felt not only their eyes upon her, murmuring curiously, but the king’s as well. Sara picked her gaze up to find Thranduil had his head tilted, his eyes bright and a smirk lit up his features. “Red suits you, Aranel,” he commented as if it were only an observation. “Your striking features become even more so in that shade.” Her face colored, darkening further when the rest of his guests began to simultaneously agree. She knew they were kissing his ass to gain his favor, but she wasn’t used to the compliments regardless, no matter who they were from. She noticed the red of her gown matched the sweeping crimson robe he wore over his royal attire, as if he were a shining beacon from the laden silver and what she thought were diamonds placed into the chest and arms of his coat. Was it intentional, putting her in a gown that matched something of his? In _public_? She thought it was mere coincidence, but Thranduil had done it intentionally to mark her under his protection, watching how her eyes were brighter in the hues he’d chosen. 

The supper remained peaceful despite the curious whispering, and the faerie had been able to stomach half her plate before she couldn’t withstand anymore, the delicate venison morsels possessing more flavor than they had any right to, accompanied by a colorful salad and pieces of fruit. “Is the meal not to your liking, _Nin híril_?” Hazel met the prince’s pale blue, matching his father’s exactly, offering a small smile. “O-Oh, it… it’s wonderful, I… just didn’t expect to feel full so suddenly. Th-thank you for asking, Your Highness.” She bowed her head slightly, feeling the king’s eyes burning into her, then to his son. Legolas, however, wasn’t deterred by his father’s expression, suspicious of the two. “My pleasure. I’ve just noticed you usually do not eat much, or often.” Uh oh… that could be taken in several ways, and she swallowed carefully, not daring to look toward the elven king. “I’ve always eaten very little, Your Highness, truly. The land I come from, most are gluttonous and soft, greedy people. I did not wish to be like them.”

The prince grinned, taking a hearty bite of his venison. “They sound like Dwarves, or the Noble Humans.” Even she couldn’t stifle her giggles, her smile appreciative despite Thranduil’s eyes locked on the two of them. From what he could decipher from the interaction before him, his son and this girl were friendly with one another, as they’d grown to be over the last two weeks. He’d seen his son aid her while she thought he wasn’t present, and each time, she remained reluctant, pleading that he wouldn’t so as not to incur the king’s wrath. Yet his son was stubborn, almost as much as he was, and he never spoke a word to either of them. Not yet, in any case. Legolas even helped her learn some modicum of focus for her physical endurance exercises. He’d already had something in the works from the seamstress to have pants and a tighter fitting shirt, one that would allow her to train further without the worry of exposing herself, even if he’d caught himself wondering what she looked like beneath it all.

Thranduil told himself it was to see her scars, still firmly holding onto the belief that’s all it would be. He’d visited her chambers a few times since the night he’d entered her dream, but didn’t interfere since, merely content to drink his wine and watch her sleeping form. Yet he never asked why he chose to watch her, merely thinking that it was his duty as king to uphold his word in protecting her. None of the guards ever spoke of his visits to the girl to anyone, there was nothing to tell, after all. As he mulled over his thoughts, the dinner had drawn to a close. Sara, on the other hand, was still trying to understand why the king didn’t make her work as a servant, unsure if he knew how the maids acted toward her, or if it was solely because he wanted her power. As he dismissed everyone, her included, she walked alongside one of the friendlier guards, one who was tipsy, keeping himself together until they believed the king could not see them. “You’re _short_ ,” he snickered, the remark so unusual that the faerie had begun laughing as well. 

“What in the- you’re drunk!” The guard pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” but he was laughing too. “Our king has mighty excellent taste in drink. Wouldn’t you agree?” She was giggling, unaware of the pale blue stare behind them. “The last time I tried any, I can’t remember what happened, so I’ll say yes. And why are you going on about my height?” - “You mean the lack of it?” More laughter between them and she playfully smacked his armored shoulder. “Hey!” But she wasn’t angry, nor incensed, and pale green eyes looked down on her with friendliness. “Last one I saw as small as you, it was a Hobbit- but I think they’re a bit smaller.” Okay, the guard was trashed, but she politely shook her head. “I wouldn’t know, actually. I’ve never met a hobbit.” The elven king, while adeptly unseen, could hear and see the two perfectly, a strange sense twisting in his stomach. She was so at ease with the guard, laughing freely without a hint of apprehension. 

He wanted to be the one to evoke her laughter, to see her unafraid in his presence. She was beginning to calm herself more, certainly, but she immediately would withdraw and flinch the moment his temper barely flared, panic in her magnetic hazel eyes. The guard drew closer to her, placing a hand along her back, between her wings and traced over her spine, the gesture provoking Thranduil but still kept watch. Sara seemed to fidget, her head lowered as they paused at her door. “Small, definitely not a hobbit,” the guard repeated, snickering to himself before the king witnessed the elf's features become tender. “But your skin is quite soft, you know this, yes?” She floundered, her face the shade of her gown and tucked herself to appear smaller. “I… I, uhm…” Speechless, she bit her lip, those wide hazel orbs timidly searching the guard’s. “Beautiful, too. Much more beautiful than I’ve seen in centuries… Does that frighten you?”

The king had his hand resting against the intricately carved stone, his grip tightening and cracking it beneath his palm as she quickly shook her head, her gaze averting. “N-No… I-I don’t know if… if my life will be longer here o-or…” But the guard tilted her head up, his finger gentle under her chin. “You are half-elven, already that grants you long life. With your unusual blood, you may yet be immortal, same as we.” There was a moment of silence between them, just as a hunk of stone broke from the beam the king had been gripping. The guard smirked, a drunk yet charming half-smile over his features before he leaned forward, eyes closing and pressed his lips to her cheek. The elven king had to summon every ounce of will within him to not stride forward and rip him from her, despite his foot moving forward. He whirled upon seeing her face darken, storming to his chambers and summoned a maid to bring him wine. A lot of it. 

Sara had stilled entirely when the guard kissed her cheek, her brain misfiring when she felt the smooth, warm lips touch her skin. The guard was beautiful, all of the elves were, but… as her brain shorted, only one face flashed in her mind- Thranduil. Her heart ached, but the guard didn’t see the pain as she kept her eyes elsewhere, and he softly bid her goodnight as he opened her door. “Pleasant dreams, _laich gwilwileth_.” Her face colored once more as she gently closed it, offering a small smile. Once the door had shut, she pressed her forehead to the stone, the cool sensation bringing more thoughts to her mind. Why… why did that guard become so sweet with her? Drunk or not, alcohol usually made others more courageous in their feelings and actions. Did the guard like her? It was sweet, he was a gorgeous elf, but… her aching heart was almost painful. She didn’t have eyes for the guard, only Thranduil held her attention in such a way. But he was grieving the loss of his wife, still mourning her. She felt like both the fool and the villain for liking him that way.

Yet she couldn’t help it. Even in the books, and especially the movies, he was magnetic, complex, mind-blowing. She stepped away from the door, hearing the guard leave as well, his sigh heavy as he departed for the change in shifts. Sara undressed carefully, draping the regal gown over the chair and slipped on her nightclothes, her face in the pillows as she sank against the mattress. The king, meanwhile, had consumed several chalices of his special wine, the one said to be more intoxicating than the rest as he fumed over the exchange between his guard and Aranel. She was laughing, she was blushing, his guard had put his hands on her, giving her a gesture of affection. He wasn’t bothered was what he told himself as he slammed back another chalice full, of course she was taken in by elven beauty, especially if she herself claimed to never having encountered their like before. Why wouldn’t such attention sway her?

But she, too, was elven. Was it the human blood within that made her so amiable, or the fae? Frustrated, the king was so lost in thought that he hadn’t given much attention to the realization he’d left his chambers and stalked toward hers, thoroughly intoxicated from having several bottles of wine. It was only when he stopped at her door did he notice, pale blue eyeing the hall from where he’d walked and back to her door, neither guard uttering a syllable to their ruler as he opened her door. She lay on her stomach, shifting to her side when he’d entered, blissfully unaware of his presence. The door was closed, and he took the chair beside her sleeping form, quiet as he always was and let his gaze drift over her. How could she spark such a heated outburst from him, of all people? Sara shifted in her sleep, her hand hanging from the side of the bed, delicate fingers curled softly toward her palm. He took her hand in his own, looking over the sheer difference between them. Her skin was soft as he remembered, but she was so frail, he could encompass her hand entirely in his own.

Just as he sought to pull his hand away, her fingers began to tighten, her breaths hitching. Thranduil’s gaze narrowed briefly, watching her eyebrows knit together as if she were pained. Would this one be a nightmare, or would she be crying like the last time? Curious, he focused on her, finding himself in the familiar forest, but… not the same location. Her features had disappeared entirely, and he was in a clearing, one where stone lay beneath his feet, covered in moss and stained from the greenery. A statue stood a few yards away, and he noted how it faced opposite from him, as if it were looking at something. Thranduil followed its gaze, finding a covered path. While the statue itself had aged, cracking at its base, it was as though it was a vigilant guard against something. He followed the path, the trees on either side dying or already dead, leaves covering the ground. The further he ventured, the more ominous things were around him- crows cawing and unknown beasts snarling within the wood, but nothing dared approach, as if watching to see what the elven king would do. 

A snapping of branches tore his stormy gaze from the unseen creatures in the dying wood, a cry of pain rattling the air around him. Thranduil followed the sound, hearing raised voices and jeering, then another cry. His steps had quickened, instinctively reaching for his sword, fingers coiling around the hilt. He delved further, finding stone, a dilapidated ruin, what might have been a fortress, and angry, broken steel around, as if iron gates had been destroyed in some ancient battle. Within the crumbling confines of the ruins lay an open space, and… people. A group, small children, surrounding another as it curled in on itself protectively. It was a little girl. “Get up!” One of the children shouted. “Don’t you wanna know how to play? It’s dodgeball, so _dodge_!” They threw things at her, jeering more, and the little girl yelped in pain, crying harder. “S-Stop!” Her voice was tiny, her scream broken, and the elven king saw no one aiding her. The kids mocked her cries to stop, but became bored and finally left the girl. She was shivering, sobbing, and no older than seven it seemed.

With the kids gone, vanishing entirely, Thranduil crept closer, tilting his head as he looked over the girl. “They’ve gone,” he murmured, crouching and easing the girl’s arm from her head. Her eyes were clenched as she shivered, a tiny hand trying to furiously wipe away tears and he helped her sit, letting her sniffle for a few moments. “I didn’t want to play like that- why were they so mean to me?” Her dark brown hair was covered in grass, curls twisting around the dry pieces as she started to pick them out. “M-My mommy’s gonna be so mad at me…” Her voice cracked again, and she tilted her head up to the elven king. What Thranduil saw made him recoil, drawing his hand back as his eyes widened. The child… the little girl… she had her eyes. The girl had then vanished into thin air, leaving the king startled. It was a memory, _her_ memory. Straightening, he quickly dusted himself off and searched the ruins. 

He could hear her crying, much like the time before, but as he silently drifted closer, he saw that she was alone. Battered. Bruised. Before her was a statue, a man wielding an oversized great-axe, his eyes proud as they lay straight ahead, one who seemed familiar somehow. “Dad…” She choked on a sob, kneeling at the feet of the statue. “What am I supposed to do? I thought he loved me and I found him with another woman! I tried… I tried to say s-something, to… to leave, but he…” Her shoulders wracked, hiding her face in her hands. “He broke me… He left me for dead and I c-couldn’t fight back…” A choked sound escaped and she hurriedly wiped her eyes, swallowing thickly. “And… and you know he’s not th-the first… Daddy, h-he almost forced me to…” She screamed against bandaged hands, the sound ripping through the elven king in her anguish. “I loved him and he did this to me!” The statue remained unmoving, and furious whispers were heard all around, male voices, angry with someone. Angry with her, all of them repeating the same thing. _“I never loved you.” - “No one will ever want you.”_

Everything began to disappear around him, vanishing little by little, including her, and Thranduil found himself in her chambers once again, blinking quickly to clear his mind. Tears had fallen down the side of her face as she slept, and without thinking, he wiped them away, brushing his fingers through her hair as conflict rose within him. Her suffering was both similar and nothing like his simultaneously, she’d known betrayal of many forms, from friend and lover alike, but hadn’t felt what it was like to know someone’s love for her. She’d known love, like he did, but unlike the elven king, her love was never reciprocated. Yet she still never chose cruelty or coldness. Perhaps that was why she withdrew from the guard, she feared the potential to be hurt. Just as he stood, turning to leave with his hand on the door, her voice was heard behind him, and for a moment, he thought she’d woken. “Thranduil…?” He turned, finding she still lay sleeping and his eyebrow raised, a small smile on his lips. 

She was dreaming of him, but as his wonder grew, so too did his confusion. “I’m sorry…” What did she apologize in dreams for? He shook his head, departing from her chambers and into his own, finishing his next bottle of wine as the girl’s memories and nightmares flashed before his eyes. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara finds herself meeting repercussions of the guard's drunken advance, then meets with an unlikely figure from her past. A friend is made as her emotional roller-coaster hits a boiling point. Things are not as they seem within the mind of the faerie, someone seeks control over her, and it isn't Thranduil.

Sara woke the next morning to find nothing amiss, but she was instantly on her feet. Her lessons were changing, as per the king’s orders. Still in disbelief that he wanted her to dance, unsure as to why, she paced the spacious room as she stared at the elven carvings done so intricately in the stone. Her heart thundered, however, upon remembering that he would be delving within her mind as well. A maid entered, a different one and much kinder than the others, leaving a dress for her to change into. This one blew her away- a shade of chocolate brown that bore golden leaves and antlers sewn into the fabric. It was too regal, just another thing for her to be confused over, but hurriedly dressed, allowing the maid to fix her hair. “You’re as beautiful as the Lady Galadriel,” the woman told her. With a flush, Sara giggled and shook her head. “I haven’t met her, but I’ve heard she’s lovely.” 

Her wings had shifted to a gold in hue, sparkling behind her as the maid was replaced by a guard to escort her to the great hall. Who would be her instructor? She continued to fidget, stepping inside what looked to be a cavern, lit by what appeared to be crystals or stone, but it was empty. She thought it was empty. “Aranel,” Thranduil’s voice echoed off the stone, the rich melodiousness everywhere at once as he approached from behind. She hurriedly gave a low curtsey. “You’ve woken early. It’s as though you’re understanding the requirement of your lessons, although…” He strode to her, hands relaxed behind his back. He wore no crown that morning, but he was still the most breathtaking sight she’d ever witnessed. “You’ll forgive me for wondering if your alertness this morning is due to the change in your lessons.” Did he think she was excited to dance? She was _dreading_ it, but she couldn’t refuse his orders. “I…” He grinned, his golden silver hair reflecting the crystals, and it was as though his eyes were glowing, disarming her entirely. 

“Go on,” he urged quietly. “Speak freely, there is no need for a display.” She hesitated, fingers twisting in front of her. “I was… truthfully, I was dreading the change, my King, but… I cannot refuse an order, even if I am confused as to why you wish me to attend the feast.” He stepped toward her, a curious glimmer in his eyes. “Confused? Why would you be confused about a request such as that? You are a guest in my home, it is only natural that you should receive an invitation.” But she couldn’t decline, she knew that much. Even then, the question of why remained. “And I thank you greatly for it, my lord, I just…” - “You’re wondering why you need to learn to dance, questioning the need for it if you do not intend to do so.” As if he read her mind, the words came naturally from his lips. Hazel locked on his icy blue and she timidly nodded. “Y-Yes, my King.” 

As he took casual strides around her, the gesture to Sara seemed as if assessing her appearance, her… everything. It was unnerving, almost as much as he was. “I believe you’ve learned enough Elvish to address me in the language, Aranel.” She drew in a sharp breath, her head lowered. “ _Athon, aran nin._ ” He smiled, stopping in front of her and closing the gap between them. At first, Sara began to back away, but he took her arm to hold her in place. “I don’t know what method of dancing you’re familiar with, _Dilthen gwilwileth,_ but you will learn the proper way.” His hand slid from her arm to her palm, encompassing it, dwarfing it really, and his other hand rested on her waist. _He_ was her teacher?! Sara’s features darkened to the shade of beets, trembling in his hold. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he instructed, just as soft music began to play. She did so as a sound caught in her throat, and even through his regalia, she could feel the muscle beneath, lithe and inhumanly strong. If he noticed the color on her face, he didn’t mention it, instead answering her confusion. 

“You’re learning to dance because I wish it. What if someone asked for your hand to dance?” She doubted anyone would ask her that, not being as much of a freak as she was, but she didn’t argue, her steps shaky as he led her through. His chest was almost pressing against her own, the hand on her waist moving to the small of her back and brushing along her skin. Still, the king possessed a warmth that left her wishing to hide within it, but silently swearing at herself for even entertaining the idea. He would push her away if she tried. “Where has your mind gone, Aranel? Your eyes have a distance in them.” Her lips parted to speak, but no sound would emit, more so when he turned them, his steps continuing. “I… I’m not used to this, my King.” Thranduil quirked a perfect, prominent eyebrow, his eyes never leaving her own. “Is that so? Dancing unnerves you that much?” _He’s really going to make me say it…_ “N-No, my lord, merely… I-I thought you were attending other duties, that I… would have a different tutor.” 

Remembering the guard’s actions from the night before, the woodland king sighed to cover the twitch of his jaw, grinning down at her. “Oh, so it is I to unnerve you. Are you still frightened, Aranel? Is my instruction so unbearable?” Her face flushed, and she instinctively shook her head as he continued to lead. “N-No, my lord, not… not at all. Just… just nervous,” her breathing was in short bursts, hushed as she spoke. “I… I don’t want to mess up.” He chuckled, his smile widening and took away what little breath remained. “You’re a fast learner. Perhaps there is someone you wish to impress within my halls?” Her heart stuttered, quickly averting her gaze. She didn’t see the flash in his eyes, only that he’d pressed his chest to hers, roughly, earning a whimper and her hazel met his pale blue. _Play stupid! He’ll reject you if he knows!_ “M-My King?” Her chest was heaving, the two having no space between them as his mind warred with his reason. It was that guard, he was sure of it. “You’ve caught the eye of a few, Aranel, and do not play coy with me. I’ve seen the way you speak with my guards.” 

Sara’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open as his face neared hers, his expression ominous. Oh no… he’d seen her with the guard the night before- he had no idea she didn’t like the man. “N-No, my King! I… there is no one that I seek to impress, I swear!” But his hold had tightened on her, preventing her from wriggling free. “I… th-the guard last night was drunk and… and I froze, I… I do not see him that way!” She assumed he was angry because he refused to see one of his people mixing with the likes of her, a mongrel half-breed, and tears pricked her eyes. “I know I’m nothing more than a half-breed, my lord. I do not question that I don’t belong-” Thranduil felt something snake along his spine, unaware the feeling was jealousy in its highest form, possessive over the girl in his arms. He was reminded of her dreams then, his grip not as firm. She was frightened of him again- whatever nervousness she once possessed had returned to outright fear of the elven king, he could see it. 

Thranduil released her, leaving her confused, cold. “You don’t see the attention you gather, do you?” Sara clutched her chest, hurriedly wiping her eyes, meeting his stormy blue with confusion. “My lord?” His back was to her, robes shifting as he almost paced the hall, not once did an ounce of dirt stick to his clothing. “You’re either oblivious or addled,” he spat, at a table and poured himself a chalice of wine. “You attract attention. For now, you are dismissed. A maid will see you about a change of clothes- you need something less revealing.” She quaked, tears rimming her eyes and quickly curtsied, bolting from the hall and met with another guard, the man blocking her exit. He bowed to Thranduil, spear positioned beside him. “My lord, King Rinnion has arrived. Shall I inform him you’re otherwise occupied?” 

“No, I will meet him now. See to it she remains in her chambers until this afternoon for her next lesson.” Sara met the guard’s grey eyes with her teary hazel, not a word escaping as she followed him from the hall, the king behind them. 

As they ascended through the magnificent structure, she felt pale blue burning into her, not daring to turn her head lest he order her to the dungeons once again. It took every ounce of will not to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness, confused as to what she’d done wrong. The king, however, swore at himself for believing she wished to have the guard that so brashly made an advance toward her. As the three continued, voices could be heard within the architecture, elves laughing merrily and complimenting the King Rinnion that had arrived. Sara covered her face in her hands, not wishing to see another face, wishing she could somehow apologize to her host for whatever her infraction may have been when a voice made her stand rigid. “Well, if it hasn’t been over fifty years. Thranduil, you fuckin pretty boy, you treat my ass way too well.” _No… it couldn’t have been…!_ She stilled, her heart almost leaving her body and the guard noticed she’d fallen behind. “Come on,” he urged, but the elven king’s demeanor had shifted entirely. “King Rinnion, welcome! You’re always a welcome guest within these halls.” 

She had to pause, to hear the King Rinnion speak once more. “W-Wait,” she breathed to the guard, hearing her host depart. “And you’re always welcome in mine, brother.” Sara dropped to her knees, a sob sticking in her throat. “Woah there- Thranduil, she’s new- you havin’ fun with her or somethin’?” 

“I would have thought you knew me better than that, Rinnion.” Her head whirled, wide hazel taking in the sight. There was her host, the most gorgeous elf she’d ever seen in her life, staring at her with a heated, disapproving look, but the elf beside him… the king beside him was elven too, with long hair that curled, the shade of chocolate brown that fell past his shoulders, his frame broad and a bit smaller than Thranduil’s, with a scraggly beard that could have been mistaken for a dwarf had he been shorter, but his eyes… they were _her_ eyes. This must be the King Rinnion she’d heard about. His own gaze was disbelieving, dropping his sword with a bewildered expression. “Sissy?” 

“Dad?!” It was him! Her father was alive! Thranduil’s expression was startled as the girl picked herself up and bolted to his guest, barreling into his arms and began sobbing. “Dad! Oh my god, Dad!” She was almost screaming, the sound muffled against Rinnion, holding her just as tight, though minding her wings. “Sissy! Jesus fucking Christ! My little girl!” She screamed again, anguish and relief filling her cries and her host looked upon the sight, confused and unsettled. Rinnion pulled back, holding his daughter’s shoulders to look over her, in awe over her wings. “Sissy, what the fuck… how-” She shook her head, still sobbing and reached for him again, her legs giving out before the westlands king held her upright, hushing her. “Shh, breathe, sissy, you’re all right.” She hiccupped, hurriedly wiping her eyes and held her father’s face. She had to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. “You died…” Heartbreak filled eyes that matched hers exactly before tightly embracing her again. “I know, pumpkin, I know… how’d you get here, baby girl? How’d you die?” Briefly, Sara choked, confusion lighting her gaze. “Die? Dad, I don’t… I don’t remember anything. Just… writing and talking to my friend… then I was running from orcs…” 

“Sara, you’re sure you didn’t die?” She coughed briefly and shook her head. “Dad, I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t think so, but… when I try to remember, it hurts-” 

“And what do you mean, running from orcs?” Sara was sitting on the floor in front of Thranduil’s throne, her father beside her with his hand on her shoulder as the woodland king observed them, and she spoke of what she could remember from then. “What about these bad boys, huh?” Her father asked, drifting over her wings. “These don’t come outta thin air.” She was careful not to meet the woodland king’s gaze, meeting only her father’s. “I… I’m part faerie, Dad. Half-elf, part faerie, and… part human.” Her father snickered, but still remained in awe. “Damn, that’s some shit, ain’t it? But how’d you get here of all places?” For a moment, she grew quiet, and Thranduil wondered if she would tell his guest, her supposed ‘father’, that he’d kept her in his dungeons without food or water for a week. “Well, the prince, Legolas, he and some others- I guess they were on patrol- but they rescued me and brought me here. His Majesty Thranduil’s been a generous host.” 

“Has he, now?” Her father barely turned to meet the woodland king’s eye, almost glaring. “Yes, dad, he has,” Sara insisted. “He’s fed me, kept a roof over my head, helped me learn to speak Elvish, and he’s trying to help me figure out how I got here to begin with.” Despite her father being in front of her, Sara refused to let her father face off against her host. She cared for Thranduil, harbored a crush, an affection for him, but she couldn’t reveal that lest she be shunned by the host himself. Her father inclined his head, understanding, and stood, helping his daughter to her feet. Though the woodland king had wondered if she knew he’d entered her dreams, fabricating that her father had died. “So… Dad, you _died_ . How… how are you here?” Rinnion, or Steve, as she knew his name to be, tilted his head back and sighed. “Well, sissy, I _did_ die, that’s the thing. But when things grew dark for me, you know that little light that people talk about?” When she nodded, he continued. “I wasn’t too far from Harlindon, which is far west of here. Didn’t know I was elven until I saw my ears in a puddle, then started wandering around. Turns out, there’s a lot of elves wandering the areas. Anyway, a few were rallied together against a bunch of goblins and I helped ‘em win the battle. A little while after that, they’re calling me ‘king’ and bringing more elves.” 

That was when she noticed her father’s ears. The points extended a little more than her own. “Dad are you… a full-blooded elf?” He drew his shoulders back and picked up his sword, sheathing it at his hip. “Pure-blooded Sindarin, baby girl, so if you’re half, that makes you half Sindarin, and a princess.” She wavered, clutching her father’s arm as her face colored. Thranduil had called her the Elvish name for Sara, for ‘princess’, and she never thought… Her father snorted at her shock, chuckling. “Guess my little girl needs her crown then, huh?” Sara shook her head, vehemently. “Nuh-uh! Dad, I… how the _hell_ am I supposed to be a princess? I don’t know the first thing about being royal!” Thranduil, however, stepped forward, and Sara saw the curious intrigue light up his features. “The feast isn’t for another two weeks, my friend. Perhaps a ceremony beforehand to mark the two of you reuniting? It is the least I can do. I know you’ll need another in the Western Lands, but consider this another celebration. My treat.” Hazel met the king’s pale blue, her face coloring again. Throwing a party, for her and her father reuniting, on his good will? 

“You know what? I’d like that, brother. Let’s do it.” Sara’s mouth fell open at her father’s reply, unable to protest when the woodland king inclined his head. “Then it shall be so. Guard, inform the rest of the halls of the new celebration before the feast, staff and guest alike are to attend. The princess of the Western Lands has reunited with her father, the King Rinnion. If you’ll excuse me, my friend, may I have a word with your daughter? Her lessons for this afternoon are meant to continue, I wish to be sure she still wants to attend them.” He _what_? Sara couldn’t so much as make a single utterance of protest when her father gestured to her, letting the two of them have a moment in private. The look in King Thranduil’s eyes had shifted, his curiosity brighter. “I thought you said you weren’t a princess in your land, Aranel,” he murmured, ensuring only she could hear. “I… I wasn’t, my King. The… the last I saw my father was over a decade ago, and… and that was before my mother had told me he died. We… we were just commonfolk, not royalty.” 

Thranduil watched as her walls encased her, her expression guarded. “You spoke of being from another world, _Dilthen gwilwileth_ , is that not the case?” She nodded again. “Then perhaps there is more than meets the eye. I look forward to seeing you this afternoon.” He’d taken her hand in his own, leaving a soft brush of his lips against her knuckles. Sara almost fainted, wavering on the spot and holding her hand to her chest when he released her. His lips were sinfully soft, and just against her hand, making her wonder… _No, stop! Your dad is right there!_ Her father approached, their host giving them privacy but still, his gaze lingered on her. “Sissy, straight up, has he done somethin’ to you?” Quickly, the girl shook her head. “Dad, no.. he really hasn’t. He’s been teaching me elven customs and… honestly, if he hadn’t, I’d probably be dead. He’s had clothes made for me so I don’t break my wings or anything.” 

Her father seemed not to care that their host was right in front of them, within earshot, but regardless, Sara defended the woodland king, her heart outweighing all else. “He’s been a benevolent king, more so than anyone I can imagine. Dad, he’s protected me from the monsters that plague his forests.” She didn’t see the way Thranduil’s expression shifted, one from curious and suspicious if she’d tell her father what she’d suffered to one of almost tenderness, excusing himself to help announce preparations. “You like him.” Again, her heart stuttered, and she quickly averted her eyes. “Sissy, I know better. He’s a good-looking elf and can fight like no other, but be careful. You know he’s still grieving over his wife.” Sara swallowed thickly and nodded. Of course her father could see it, he knew her best. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’m not asking for him to look at me like that, I just… I can’t help it… he’s been a good host to me.” She refused to tell him about the dungeons. Knowing her father’s temper, he would confront Thranduil in an instant. “I don’t want to be seen as a replacement anyway.” 

Her father sighed, but nodded, clapping her on the shoulder. “All right, sissy, but hey, I’ve gotta get settled in. You feel like meeting up later?” She nodded, a bright grin on her features. “I’d love to, I just have to finish my lesson for the day and I can.” Surprisingly, while her father was curious, he didn’t pry, hugging her tightly before he was guided elsewhere, and the guard accompanying her led her to her chambers. Laying on the bed was a change of clothes- pants, a shirt that would cover her breasts entirely, and boots just at the floor. She changed quickly, sighing in relief. Finally, she was covered, extremely more comfortable than she’d been before, but… she couldn’t stop pacing. Her father was there, _alive_ , and more than that, he was a king. It made her, by law and blood, the elven princess of the Western Lands. Curious, she cracked open her door and looked for the guards. “Excuse me?” She asked softly, earning their attention. “Could I… Am I able to get any maps of Middle Earth? I wish to see my father’s kingdom.” 

One of them nodded, looking to the other guard in silent question. When the one had left to get her the maps she asked for, she closed her door, pacing the room. What was Thranduil going to think- she’d told him she was a commoner, something she believed to be true from where she came from, but… she was royalty in Middle Earth. Just before she was summoned for her lesson with mind-opening with her host, the maps were delivered, but she was due to meet with the woodland king before she could review them. At least she was more comfortable. The pants and shirt were a sage green in color, with blacks and browns throughout, and her wings shifted to the shade of the majority as she was led to the wide clearing apart from the gardens. Thranduil was already there, waiting for her. “I must admit, I’m surprised you still wished to attend, seeing as your father is here.” He was confused, though his expression betrayed nothing, and her own expression became bewildered. “I… I… my King, I… I thought my father was… I thought he was dead.” 

Her host’s expression remained unreadable, and for a moment, Sara thought as though he had become angry with her. “Do you find yourself capable of properly focusing on this, Aranel? You cannot become distracted when we open our minds.” She bit her lip, nodding quickly and approached when he gestured for her to. “I… I can, my lord. I’m ready.” He smirked, though his gaze was unfocused. “Truly? Then you surprise me.” She didn’t understand what he’d meant at first, stepping toward a stone she hadn’t seen before. The clearing looked as though even the leaves were swept from the stones beneath their feet, and she was guided to stand on an Elvish stone as he took the one in front of her. “Don’t look away from me,” he guided her eyes to meet his own, and she felt a brief shiver from the wind at her back, not noticing how he could see every part of her despite their eyes lingering. 

Her breaths shuddered, but she inclined her head, clasping her hands before her. “ _Athon, aran nîn.”_ He grinned, only slightly, and gestured for her to sit, legs crossed with their palms facing up. “Once you are more practiced, simple eye contact will be more than enough. Become more skilled, and you won’t even need to use that.” The two locked their eyes together as he prompted her to mimic his deep, rhythmic breathing, insisting she let go of the outside world, even for just a moment. “When you hear me in your mind, then you are ready to continue,” he set his sword on his lap, pale blue remaining on her. Yet as she focused, she couldn’t stifle her trembling, her fingers visibly conveying her worry, but remained determined to learn. While she’d read Thranduil was the best warrior of the elves, that Elrond and Galadriel were the best at telepathy, the fact remained, he was still teaching her. Sara never noticed how her surroundings disappeared, but the woodland king’s baritone was strong in her mind. _“Can you hear me, Aranel?”_ She gasped, eyes sparkling. _“I… I can, my King. Where… where do I go from here?”_

 _“You must remember not to fear me,”_ he urged. _“Let me walk through your memories, let me see what you must unlock.”_ She swallowed, but his magnetic eyes kept her focus, her breathing hitched. _“I would love any help you can give, my lord.”_ She felt the elven king drift through her mind, starting with the most recent of her thoughts and drifted backward, from her time in the dungeons. _“Why did you not tell your father the truth? I thought you detested liars.”_ Sara swallowed, hands tightening on her lap. _“You’re my host, I’m your guest, my King. I know my father’s temper and I don’t want any ill will between you two. Besides, I… I know my actions and words were uncalled for. I deserved the time I spent in your dungeons.”_

_“You truly believe that, don’t you?”_

_“I do. My lord, I… I spoke of not being from here, how Middle Earth was a fiction. And while I can’t even imagine what you’ve suffered through, I can imagine at least the surface. I spoke harshly when I shouldn’t have… And… it is my hope that you can forgive me for that.”_

Thranduil’s expression had shifted, becoming gentler toward her, and Sara felt her heart stutter, losing her air once again. If he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. _“You’ve spent enough time here that I know your words to be honest, Aranel. Come, there is more to see within your mind.”_ The two drifted along her recent memories, finding her block in a matter of instants. _“It won’t budge_ , _”_ she thought in a huff. _“Not inherently true,”_ he replied. _“There are always various methods of entry.”_ He pushed against her subconscious subtly, and she felt something waver within her. Various shifts pushed themselves in her mind, and the girl saw symbols she’d never encountered before. Symbols, darkness, fire, something burning, something agonizing. She couldn’t hear him telling her to pull back. _“Aranel, let go! Now!”_ But she couldn’t- she was stuck to whatever lock was placed upon her. Sara began to scream when Thranduil ripped his telepathy from hers, seeing her prone, on her stomach, and how she jerked, writhing in agony, tears streaming from her eyes.

Without thinking, he crossed from the stone he’d been on to hers, pulling her from the slab and onto his lap, lifting her as she thrashed against whatever held her. He saw it- the darkened magic locked upon her mind. Something sent her to them, something that wanted to use her. “Aranel,” he breathed, his chest heaving. “Aranel, it’s me. Open your eyes, look at me. You’re safe. You’re safe, it can’t hurt you.” He wasn’t prepared for the thing that held her, more powerful than the last necromancer as it burned inside her brain, sending her screaming as she unconsciously clutched the king’s robes. “ _Im ber na beri- cin_ ,” he murmured, cradling the back of her head. Finally, she broke from the hold of the darkness within her mind, jerking until she saw that it was the woodland king who held her. A sob wrenched itself free and she hid against his chest, clutching his robes as she cried. “What is it?” She pleaded to him brokenly. “What is that thing?” He knew it was another necromancer, but this one… this one was far worse, as if it were Sauron himself. 

Sara buried her face against the crook of his neck, desperately clawing for some kind of comfort against the horrors that threatened her. The scents of earth, incense, and a smoky, comforting scent filled her nostrils, not fully grasping that it was the woodland king embracing her as she sobbed. His fingers were in her hair, cradling the back of her head as he murmured in Elvish his promise to protect her, that she was safe in his home. Hazel eyes drifted upward and another soft cry broke free, embarrassed and ashamed of herself. “I… I’m sorry,” she offered, her voice cracked and brittle. “I didn’t mean to… I… I didn’t do so well, did I?” Her words threatened something to shatter within him, and Thranduil shook his head. “I must apologize. I shouldn’t have exerted so much of my will against the barrier.” But she swallowed, shivering as she straightened. His arms, tempting and warm, made it almost impossible to pull away, but she had to. It wasn’t proper. 

“N-No, my King, I… I should have known it was something… something bad. I… n-nothing got to you, did it?” He looked over her as she wiped her eyes and couldn’t stifle the shocked sound he made. “No, _Dilthen gwilwileth_. I’m more than fine, but you…” His words trailed off, watching her wings. They’d begun to lower themselves, a light surrounding her as they grew smaller, wrapping around her back and arms. “Wh-what…?” She’d seen it too, extending an arm and watched as her wings absorbed into her skin, leaving only a trail of where they’d once been, as if they were disappearing within her, leaving glimmering ink across her back and arms. The woodland king shifted her, noting how where her wings once were, there were inked swirls, the shade glimmering green and gold as if someone smeared some sort of oil or cosmetic in artistic patterns.”Your wings have gone…”

He seemed mystified, but… did she also see a disheartened glimmer in his gaze? But Sara felt as though her wings hadn’t gone at all, something shifting in her back. “N-No, my King,” she shook her head, shivering when he traced the marks. “No, no, you’re right… I feel them just beneath the surface. If they have been seen, and are now concealed, perhaps you _can_ bring them forth at will like you desired from the beginning.” Hope threatened to flare to life, drawing in a sharp breath as she turned her grateful eyes to his. “Do you… do you really think so, my lord?” Thranduil saw more than hope in her hazel eyes, bright as she turned her face up to his, just over her shoulder as he knelt behind her. He saw… no, it couldn’t be. Was he hoping for it, to see that radiant glow make itself forth? She took his breath away for the briefest instant when he witnessed the growing sense, feeling her relax. Sara was beginning to trust him. 

“It is my firm belief that you should be able to call them or conceal them at your whim, based on this,” he traced over the shimmering marks along her back. “You’re more lucrative than I imagined.” She turned her head, leaving him unable to directly see her features as the color returned, the girl biting her lip. “I… I can only hope to help, my King.” Silence hung between them, and it was an almost timid one from her, while he was still tracing her marks. Pure silk lay under his fingertips… but as if returning to himself, he withdrew his touch, standing abruptly. Her words struck an odd chord within him, a flurry of emotions running through his eyes. Touched by her sincerity, but angered with himself, believing he’d betrayed his wife in some fashion, and an icy cold settled within him once more. “Continue your lessons and we shall find what you’re best suited for, Aranel.” He was gone suddenly, before she ever had time to turn, a hurt settling within her. _What did I do?_

She picked herself up, arms wrapped around herself and noted when a guard approached, he didn’t take her arm or keep his gaze on her to ensure she didn’t run. That had to have been because of her father. As she entered the king’s halls, Thranduil was nowhere to be seen, adding to her ache. But if she asked, people would probably get the wrong idea… “Is… is King Thranduil feeling well? Our lesson stopped short and I don’t know if something happened.” The guard paused briefly, gauging her demeanor. Timid as usual, but he remembered how their lord stormed past him before ordering him to see her to her chambers, that he would have more clothing sent to her. “He is our king,” the guard replied smoothly. “His whims are that of the storm, sometimes he becomes calm and there are days he’s a torrent. It’s best to leave him to calm.” A knot grew in her throat, but she nodded, eyes downward until she’d reached her chambers. She did something wrong, she had to have, but _what_?

Panicked, worried tears slipped from her eyes and she changed into the garments brought to her. More dresses, all with the back entirely covered. There were also pants and tunics in her size, and she could barely make out how they’d been altered for her size. Sara changed into one of the dresses, a deep orange that was shades apart from brown, but a maid entered and began to work with her hair, styling it in a way that she could only dream of- adding autumn leaves throughout of varying yellows and oranges. “A crown is being made for you, my lady,” the maid sounded almost excited, and it was the nice one she’d encountered before. Sara almost choked, the fact of her being a princess startling her once again. “A-A crown? I don’t…” But the woman curtsied, still smiling. “His Majesty Thranduil seeks to have something made to take your place in your father’s kingdom once you fulfill your oath, and you are to be crowned before the feast.”

She swallowed. Her father would place the crown on her head, and she would be known to all of Middle Earth as the princess of the Western Lands. Unable to form a coherent thought, Sara nodded, breathless. “I… th-thank you, that… that’s very sweet. His Majesty does me a great honor.” But something shifted in the maid’s eyes, disconcerted and sparking the faerie’s worry. “What is it?” She asked softly, almost whispering. The maid hurriedly looked to the door, then to her, like she wanted to say something. “His Majesty is quite interested in building a partnership with your father, _Miladui_ -” She was interrupted, however, by an elf clad in armor that wasn’t the elven king’s, and bolted from the room as if she’d said too much. “Princess! There you are- these halls are bigger than we’re used to.” Sara abruptly stood, hands twisting in front of her. “I… y-yes. Who are you?” 

“Forgive me, my lady, for not introducing myself. I am known as Alyan, I’m a guard in your father’s service. We were given word by His Majesty Thranduil that you’re welcome to walk around if you weren’t too invested in reading.” 

Thranduil must have been careful with his words, Alyan didn’t have the slightest idea that she was usually confined to her chambers unless the king ordered her elsewhere. “I… I would love a walk,” she finally replied, carefully picking up a side of her gown, yet her feet remained covered, so she wouldn’t trip over the expensive garment that lay over her figure like the rivers around the king’s halls. Her father’s guard accompanied her, as did one from her host, the two on either side of her like bodyguards and a vast change from her time spent in the woodland king’s halls. A flash of pale gold was seen passing by, and the newly discovered princess saw it was Thranduil with her father, the two laughing as if they’d been friends for years. Well, they probably had- wait. Her father was King Rinnion, she’d heard guards say he’d been king for a century, but… he was only dead in her world for a decade. Did time pass differently in their worlds? “Something the matter, my lady? You look as though you’re lost in thought.” Alyan brought her gaze to his, and she saw her father’s guard had eyes of stormy grey, magnetic with an onyx ring around the iris. Even the guard provided by her host appeared inquisitive. 

“Were you not aware your father was the western king, Princess?” She sighed, heavily, head hanging low as she drifted past the sight, unsure as to why the woodland king had departed from her so fast after her wings had tucked themselves away. “More than that,” she uttered under her breath, seeing eyes of striking blue land on her as they passed. Sara didn’t lift her eyes, too afraid that she would see some form of anger within Thranduil, or some sort of dislike toward her. “What seems to be on your mind?” 

“Well-” 

“Princess Aranel,” Thranduil called for her, only feet behind her and she startled, carefully meeting his eye before giving a low curtsey. “My Lord?” 

“If you would, your father would like a word. I’ve mentioned your wings concealing themselves.” 

_“I have not mentioned the darkness I saw within you, Aranel. The unholy magic that has barricaded part of your memories.”_ She swallowed, seeing her father was watching as their host spoke in her mind. _“Thank you, my King.”_

_“Shouldn’t you be calling your father ‘your king’?”_

_“It is you that I serve, my lord. He is my father and I will call him ‘father’. And you… you’ve given me shelter, and food, and punishments when I had misspoke. You are still my king, and my promise remains.”_

Thranduil brushed past her, but his words were clear in her mind. _“I will hold you to that, Aranel. I do not take betrayal lightly, no matter how lovely the source.”_ The air she had in her lungs was gone- did he call her lovely? Did he think she was… Before she could say another thing, or convey as much, he’d drifted further away, filling a chalice of wine. “Well, well, look at you,” her father’s voice startled her, but she immediately closed the gap, embracing him tightly. “I still can’t believe you’re here, _alive_. Dad, it… it was ten years in our world, only that… but…” He held up a hand, interjecting. “Then you probably know time passes differently here. Ten years there is a hundred for us, and your life will be longer here too.” As they parted, their host had returned, looking between them. “How long?” 

“You’re only half Sindarin, sissy, but the faerie in you gives you an elf’s immortality. That part of you that’s human? It’s overpowered by your Elven and faerie blood, you’re not gonna wrinkle or anything.” Instinctively, she touched her features, looking over her figure and earned a snort from her father. “Yeah, you’re still gonna turn heads for the rest of time.” Thranduil nearly choked on his wine as Sara coughed, choking on air. But their host was laughing. “Elvenkind has always been the fairest of the races. Rinnion, I believe you were about to ask about her wings concealing?” 

“Yeah, about that- Sissy, how’d that happen?” Dread knot in her stomach, carefully avoiding the woodland king’s eye. “I… I’m not sure, actually. One minute, I was trying to focus in the gardens, the next I knew, they were wrapping around my arms and back and left what looks like glittering tattoos. I… I’m trying to figure out if there’s a word that will reveal them, or something.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but she didn’t tell her father about the dark symbols within her, nor the terrible anguish she’d felt upon touching them. Thranduil himself didn’t even know that as he broke the darkened hold on her, he was a shining light in her mind that dispelled the pain. A pure light of energy, of life, soothing her darkest horrors to silence, not even whispers remaining. “Well,” her father ruffled her hair playfully. “Keep at it. I’m surprised you’re not holed up in your room.” Thranduil’s expression betrayed nothing, but she felt his aura shift, warning her not to speak of her time in his halls. “She is usually found in the library or reading one of the books from it,” the woodland king sounded almost teasing.

“Sounds like my daughter. Has she been training since she’s been here?” - “Well, my wings made it hard, so His Majesty has been helping me with basic strength courses, dad. But I think I can now! ...If… if you’ll allow me the privilege of doing so, my King.” Both kings shared a silent conversation, and her father nodded. “Very well,” Thranduil nodded to his guard. “Remember, you are immortal, there is no need to rush what you can perfect over time.” Just as she turned to leave, inclining her head and ready to avoid their piercing stares, it wasn’t Thranduil, but her father who’d stopped her in Elvish. _“Aranel Vanyalanthiriel,_ listen well- you will do exactly as you're told _. Cin're in hon bar, ceri- ú- test hon generositui.”_ She froze immediately, thankful her host insisted she learn, able to understand her father’s orders, but the name… Was that her Elvish name? She curtsied low, hands fidgeting as surprise and panic clearly painted her features. “Y-Yes, father.” 

Her host’s eyes glimmered upon hearing her full Elven name, fitting for a royal princess. _“Beautiful waterfall… it suits you, Aranel._ ” Thranduil’s voice was in her mind, and while she said nothing, her heart thundered against her ribs, almost deafening. Could he hear it? “Loosen up, sissy. Don’t look so stiff- go have fun.” She almost ran, turning on her heel as her father watched how she carried herself, sighing once she was gone. “Get her around a couple of guys and she clams up,” he muttered, filling his own chalice of wine. “Does she not know how to speak to men?” The woodland king wondered, swirling his own, barely glancing to her receding form. “Barely,” her father admitted. “She’s shy, but she’s observant to a degree. She can like someone until the sun sets, but if she holds anyone’s attention, she’s oblivious.” So she didn’t know that the king of Eryn Galen became conflicted each time she was in his presence. It was a battle, a war, and he was reminded of her dreams. “But men have taken an interest in her, clearly.” 

King Rinnion met Thranduil’s gaze, his own hardened and protective. “They’re always the same- they only want one thing from her before they cast her aside. Not again. I’ll kill the bastard who thinks he can get what he wants from my child and leave her to the dogs.” The woodland king straightened, finishing his wine. “You are a father, it is only natural to protect your child, even against their own whims. I, too, get that way with Legolas, but there is only so much the boy will listen to.” Steve snorted, taking another drink. “That’s all kids, though. Always think they know everything before they come crawling back saying they fucked up.” The two shared an understanding laugh when the western king finished his drink. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for taking her in, brother. I know what lies outside your halls, and with her not trained yet, they would have killed her.” 

“It was my pleasure to place her under my protection, _mellon_. She’s been quite eager to learn everything she can, and you’ve no need to be concerned about her manners- she is quite polite to everyone she encounters.” A sense of pride filled the western king as he stood, the two walking to the training grounds. Both saw no sign of the princess, curious where she would have gone. “Captain Tauriel has taken her to the archery field, my lords,” one of the soldiers offered. As they passed through, Sara was focusing her breathing like the redhead had taught her, keenly transfixed on her target as she aimed the bow. “Word around the halls is that your father is King Rinnion.” Her shot flew over the target. Sheepish, a palm covered half of Sara’s face and she turned a hazel eye to the captain. “I… y-yeah…” Tauriel giggled, picking up another bow, and had they not been focused, she could have gushed about the beauty of the weapons for eternity. 

“Who knew we would have a princess in our midst. Does he know…?” Immediately, Sara shook her head, the gesture panicked. “No. No, he does _not_ , and I don’t want him to know-” she picked another arrow from the quiver, a soft sigh escaping at the craftsmanship before setting it properly. “-The last thing I want is my father to bear down on the one person who’s made sure I’m not orc food.” 

“Even after His Majesty…?” Sara had opened her mouth to reply, but saw Thranduil and her father in her peripheral and became silent. “Especially because of that,” she hissed, only for her to hear. Pale green saw what she had and merely nodded, taking her own stance for a different target. Even though it was just archery, the sleeves on the dress made it difficult to aim. The half-elf pushed her sleeves up, willing herself not to think of the king watching her. With her father, it made no difference, but with Thranduil… _Leave him alone. He’s grieving his wife._ She faintly heard him mention the white gems to her father, her heart aching and she gripped the bow tighter, swallowing thickly before she fired. Right off center. “Shit.” 

Her thoughts warred as she heard them speak. The woodland king spoke of the gems being promised by the King Under the Mountain, Thror, but his greed had taken control and he’d yet to see them, going back on his word. That meant… “And with that dragon… I didn’t even have the Western Lands for forty years before it hit. Who do they have left now?” Smaug had hit. _Sixty years…_ She felt as though she were living in the books, knowing it would be some time, but she would encounter dwarves as well. And a war. “There is one, Thorin. He seeks to reclaim the mountain, and the King’s Jewel. The Arkenstone. I believe I could acquire a partnership and get those gems, Thorin seems more reasonable than his grandfather.” But Sara knew better. Thorin would spit in her king’s face. “Tauriel!” Startled, the half-elf flinched, her shot firing and landing at the end of the target. The redhead’s expression became guarded as she placed her bow aside, bowing her head to the king’s approach. Rinnion had excused himself to spar with the soldiers. 

“More spiders infest my lands. You are to leave at once to eliminate them.” 

“Yes, my lord.” Not another word was spoken, the captain gone, and Sara tightly gripped the bow, still feeling Thranduil’s presence. “You should change if you’re wanting to train properly.” She felt the ice from him and withdrew, chewing her lip and nodded. “Y-Yes, my King.” But as she placed her bow on the rack, he blocked her exit. “Pick it up again.” She hadn’t even pulled the brace from her wrist, head down as she timidly did as she was told. Sara couldn’t understand him- warm one minute and a barren tundra the next. “Now, this was your work thus far? At least you’ve managed to make a mark.” A sound caught in her throat, noting her father was elsewhere, her knuckles white as she gripped the bow. “My King, shouldn’t I… shouldn’t I change, l-like you said?” His gaze was on her, eyes almost glowing against the dark hues of his robe, his crown only making him more intimidating. “You’ve already begun, and there is never a guarantee when trouble will make itself present. Follow me.” 

Though her breath caught as he whirled, Sara followed the king to the furthest target, and he stood behind her. “Your stance is too stiff,” he noted, watching how the velvet and silk draped over her figure. “Take a deep breath.” Just as she closed her eyes to do so, one of his large hands encompassed hers over the bow, his chest to her back. _Oh fuck_ … “Don’t hold it, exhale.” _How the fuck am I supposed to do that?_ It came out in short bursts, a small sound stuck in her throat, turning into a squeak when his other hand pressed against her stomach, fingers splayed over her entire abdomen. “Again, Aranel. From the diaphragm.” She could barely focus. Her father was gods only knew where, and Thranduil had made it where she was alone with him. No space between them, she was pressed directly to his frame, keenly aware of each perfect tone of muscle within him. Her breathing was the opposite of what he’d commanded- short bursts that caught as her face colored. Her will was tested as she tried not to squirm against him. 

“Inhale from your nose, breathe out slowly from your lips.” Was he even aware what he was doing to her? Sara felt her thighs tremble, her stomach tightening with a coiled knot of desire, but desperately attempted to listen to his instruction. Somehow, by some divine gift, she’d succeeded, the sensation calming as he brought her fingers to the string, arrow in place. “Again.” She did so, and before she could breathe out, his lips were at her ear. “Let go.” It was instinct that pulled her fingers from the string, the arrow hitting center mark. The sound it made when landing made everything crumble around her. Thranduil was only helping her, nothing more. Yet her heart shattered, knowing he was still grieving and feeling like the worst person on the planet for remotely wishing for anything romantic from him. “Better. You’ll be an excellent marksman if you remember to breathe.” She swallowed and nodded quickly, staving off tears that rimmed her eyes. She needed to go- she couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I… m-may I be excused, my King?” Sara’s voice wavered, still gripping the bow when the elven king took a step back. 

She couldn’t meet his eye, and he saw how she trembled. “Of course, but-” she never heard the rest of his question, bolting from the grounds as she dropped the bow and ran inside, tears streaming from her eyes. When she got to her chambers, no one saw her, the girl counting herself lucky for that much as she shut the door. The door sealing broke the feeble dam within, and sobs ripped themselves free as she sank to her knees. She was falling for Thranduil- it had gone beyond a crush, but he was grieving and would never love anyone else, especially a half-breed like her. She felt selfish, hating herself more with every breath. She didn’t want to feel this way. Her heart was too soft, she knew that, but she always let it rule her, always let it break her. Unaware she’d crawled to the bed and clutched a pillow, she didn’t hear Legolas outside, startling from the knock until his head peeked in. “ _Nin hiril,_ what happened? Did my father-” But as she shook her head, another wrenching sob escaped, the sound strangled as she hid her face.

He closed the door, improper in their world, but he quickly embraced her, letting her weep until she couldn’t any longer. “You’re in pain,” the prince was a perceptive one, as usual. “A pain far greater than many have known… you’re in love.” Her shoulders wracked again, her face hidden from the prince. Even if she wanted to, or was able, he wouldn’t believe her if she said the opposite. “Who?” Sara stilled then, hiccupping and reining back cries when her reddened hazel met his concerned blue. She bit her lip and shook her head. “Aranel…” Unsure of what to say to ease her pain, Legolas could only watch as she crumbled in indescribable grief. Who had she spoken with…? His mind whirled to recount the people she’d spoken with. Hardly any guards spoke to her at all, no males did really, except… But that was impossible. Realization sparked in his eyes then, his hand gentle on her back. “You harbor an affection for my father.”

Startled, she jerked, bewildered hazel meeting his blue. If he hadn’t known before, her reaction was an instantaneous giveaway. “D-Don’t-” Her voice came out choked as more tears swam from her eyes, the girl rapidly shaking her head. “Don’t tell him, _please_ , Your Highness. I can’t…” 

“We are of equal standing, Aranel, you needn’t use a title with me.” She clutched the pillow tight enough that her knuckles were bone white. “It isn’t right,” she breathed. “It isn’t right and I know it, and… and I can never expect a thing in return. I know he’s grieving and… I’m a fool. A fool and a snake! I didn’t mean to-” Her ramblings were cut short by another sob and she hid once again against the fabric in her hands, sounds of anguish muffled and dissolving in the pillow. “I won’t tell him, Aranel.” She wasn’t expecting Legolas to readily agree to her plight, and she sniffed, her voice tiny. “You won’t?” 

“No. At least, not yet. Aranel, one way or another, he _will_ find out. Nothing in these halls remain secret from him, never for long. He will know what weight lies on your shoulders, but I cannot say for certain how he will respond.” A cry threatened to return and she swallowed it, her breaths shaking. “P-Probably… I’ll probably be banished…” 

That thought hurt her more than it should have, but her tears had been spent. The prince didn’t contest her guess, assuming she might be right, as the king was still grieving the loss of his wife. “Why do you call yourself a fool or a snake? I assume you could not help your heart in this?” Sara shook her head, fidgeting with the pillow.”I… I tried, I really tried, but… I… I know he’s been grieving, and that… he won’t have any feelings for anyone like that ever again, and I… I’m a fool for allowing myself to fall for him and a snake because part of my heart is still hoping that things can change.” Silence hung in the room, eliminated only by her cries that muffled within the pillow she continued to clutch with a desperation, as if that thing alone could take the pain from her. “Why, Legolas? Why does my heart want what it will never have? I don’t want this- I hate myself for even falling for someone who could never…” His expression had become conflicted, understanding what she meant of wanting what he couldn’t have. 

“I… I ran, from him… from the archery grounds. H-He was trying to help me and everything was so… confusing. H-he didn’t even do anything, but my heart…” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “S-So I… I asked him to be excused and I ran. I didn’t stop until I got here.” He hummed thoughtfully as she dried her cheeks on her sleeves, swallowing a few times. “Allow me to step from the room for a moment. Might I suggest a change in clothes? I want to show you something.” Confused as he stood, she managed a small, perplexed nod. Legolas shut the door and Sara changed, wearing onyx trousers that were snug against her thighs and backside, black boots that fit to her calves like a second skin, with a burnt orange tunic and leather vest the shade of earth. Her hair was twisted into a braid, peeking out to find the prince had waited on her. “Perfect,” he nodded his approval that she wore pants instead, following him from her room. “Come, I’ve got a feeling you’ll enjoy this.”

“Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see.” He took her to the courtyard, not far from where her mind opening training had happened with his father and her step wavered. “Your Highness, what…” Legolas laughed, taking a fighter’s stance. “You are going to train, Aranel.” His smile was bright as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, nodding for her to approach. “Take my stance.” Sara couldn’t help the feeling of the weight relaxing from her shoulders, mimicking the prince’s stance. “Ready?” She snorted, but a smile had begun to play on her lips. “Yeah, but… how is this supposed to make me feel better?” He’d lunged for her and she dodged, neither aware they were building an audience. “Your mind will be more focused on the task at hand, allowing you to make better sense of your situation. And if nothing else-” Another lunge and she caught his arm. “-you’ll at least have trained hard enough to sleep without dreams.” That much she could take, but yelped when the prince flipped her on her back. “Cheater!” She cried breathlessly, but her smile had grown. 

Legolas brought her to stand, nodding for her to go back to her position. “Cheat? Me? I’ve never had to. Tell me something, Aranel,” he made a lunge for her and she jumped back. Both of their fathers had started watching the display, a few guards had too. “What’s that?” She wondered, the two circling one another. The more the woodland king observed, the more he saw there wasn’t romantic affection between them, no more than friendliness. “Tell me what defeat tastes like, for I’ve never encountered it.” The prince ran to her, flipping her over and she shrieked, grunting as she hit her back. Then, she began laughing, rolling on her side as fresh tears welled in her eyes. Tears of happiness. “Damn it!” She cried, getting to her feet once again. “All right,” he held up his hands, stance relaxed as he straightened, but Sara dropped, whirling her leg and cut his from beneath him, sending the prince sprawling. The surprise on his features made her laugh hard enough that her sides hurt, sitting beside him as she offered her hand. “Lucky shot,” Legolas grinned, his hand on her arm. Her smile grew and she shrugged. “For once, right?” 

He laughed then, getting to his feet and helped her stand. Sara dusted herself off, and his stance returned. “All right, play time’s over. I’m going to show you how to block and counter attack. We’ll start slow, then things will speed up.” Her expression shifted to a focused one, eager to learn as the ache in her heart began to quiet. Nodding, she then did as Legolas instructed, matching her footwork to his, blocking when he told her to, then evading, dodging, and countering his moves. Each time she was successful, she laughed and her bright smile would return, all while their fathers watched, the woodland king more confused than the western. Why had she run from him? Why was she crying? He mulled over everything that transpired, almost certain it wasn’t because of how he’d spoken, then… was it touching her that sent her into tears? He never saw her anguish fully, but the tears rimming her eyes when she asked to be excused had struck a nerve, one he couldn’t understand. Sara had finished training with Legolas in time to march in before supper, their fathers nowhere to be seen. 

“Princess,” Alyan, her father’s guard, bowed low to her, and the girl was still unnerved by her title. “His Majesty Thranduil requests you attend supper this evening. He believes it would be a good moment to catch up with your father.” _Good cover, my King._ When she nodded, Legolas excused himself, leaving her to walk back to her chambers. “He’s had maids bring you new gowns as well. They are also determining when to start the reuniting celebrations.” That meant her crown… With a swallow, she bit her lip and nodded again, wishing the trip to her chambers was a shorter one, yet thankful it took some time. “I… th-thank you, Alyan.” King Thranduil’s guards were changing their shifts, and when she arrived at her door, the guard who’d kissed her cheek was standing at her door, bowing low. “Princess Aranel,” his tone was respectful, but there was a sweetness to his voice that was unmistakable. She inclined her head, color rising to her cheeks, thankful her host wasn’t nearby. Upon closing the door behind her, a thought made her still. 

When Thranduil confronted her about the guard, was he jealous? He couldn’t have been, he was still grieving his wife! Then why… Confused, she shook her head in frustration and untied the braid from her hair, looking over the dresses left on her bed. Varying hues for the season, but she was starting to expect that from him. Shades of deep gold, intermittent flecks of silver, then blacks and oranges with reds and browns… there were three to choose from. Sara took the red one that had been stitched with glittering black leaves along the train, her shoes sparkling charcoal to match. The sleeves hung low from her wrists, she felt like… well, she felt like a princess. The red was a deep crimson, not at all flashy, and while it covered her, it hugged her as if it were a second skin, much like her boots had. She was twisting her hair back when the guard knocked, announcing it was time for her to go to the dining hall. 

The one escorting her was the one who’d kissed her cheek. Sara was rigid. If Thranduil saw… She shook the thought from her head. Crush, love, or whatever it was, she saw no reason why he would protest, and the guard offered his arm to escort her, smiling fondly over her. “Forgive me, Princess, but you’ve left me in awe. I’m entirely spellbound and your beauty is forever encased within me.” Her breaths caught, chewing her lip as her features were almost as red as her gown, nearly losing her footing. “O-Oh, I… w-well…” Her small mercy was arriving at the dining hall’s doors, opening before her. Thankfully, she wasn’t announced, but she wondered when that moment would come. Immediately, the small gathering had turned their focus on her, murmuring to each other. _“...who is she…” - “That’s the faerie our king has spoken of.”_ Her breaths caught, unconsciously gripping the guard’s arm tighter, who pat her hand, his features filled with pride. _No, stop… I don’t like you that way, please no._ She almost ran from the hall upon meeting Thranduil’s eyes at the head of the table.

He was angry. His features betrayed nothing, but his eyes… they were glowing with rage, becoming more prominent the closer she was. Her father had taken the woodland king’s right, while Legolas took his left, leaving an open seat beside her father. Thank the gods… she could hide behind her dad. Her chair was pulled out, and she thanked the guard for escorting her, finding her father pouring a glass of wine, the murmurs continuing. _“Where are her wings? I was told she had wings.” - “Certainly our lord didn’t…”_ Her arms and back were covered, no one could see the glimmering marks, quietly taking the wine her father offered. “That guard’s watchin you _hard_ , sissy. He’s tripping over his damn feet to stay close to you.” Just as she sipped the wine, she choked hearing her father’s voice, the crimson returning to her features and tucked herself down. “Sit up- you’re presented as a lady, act like one.” Fuck. There went her brilliant plan to hide. ‘S-Sorry, father, I slipped.” 

It was enough that her father didn’t question it, but the woodland king, their host… She swallowed thickly, hurriedly taking another sip of wine as everyone’s eyes remained on her. It was as though she’d become more of an oddity as people around them were trying to figure out where her wings had gone, asking why she was beside the western king. “Are you not feeling well, Aranel? Do you wish to excuse yourself?” Legolas… he was trying to bail her out. “I-” 

“She’s perfectly well, Legolas,” Thranduil’s tone was almost biting, cutting her off entirely. “She does not need to leave.” Oh… she wasn’t sure if her father picked up on it, that their host _wouldn’t_ let her leave. She didn’t have that choice. _You’re a princess, you have a home to go to now! Fight back!_ Sara cleared her thoughts away, her mind warring. _You made a promise, you keep it. Backing out makes you a coward and a liar._

The food was presented, their meal something artistically done with venison and more vegetables, roasted and healthy. Her stomach knotted, painfully hungry, but terrified to make a single twitch. Her father hadn’t noticed, to which she was thankful, but when she turned her hazel to the king’s pale, stormy blue, he was _still_ watching her. Sara almost dropped her fork. “Rinnion, I would like to make known that due to the upcoming feast, your daughter will more than likely have people in attendance who wish to dance with her. I started her instruction this morning.” The western king was filled with pride and kissed his daughter’s head in a fatherly gesture, but excited murmuring scattered throughout the hall. His guest, the faerie, was an elven princess? Who was she set to wed? Praises were being whispered among them of Thranduil’s hospitality to her, but more prominently, was the gossip about her, about where she had come from. “She used to dance, but the dancing she did was when she was a little girl. I don’t think she’s learned the proper elven dances. If you think she could use it, then by all means.” 

She wanted to scream. Not only had her father outed her, _to nobility_ , that she couldn’t dance properly, he had also given Thranduil all rights to teach her. Excitement and dread entwined around her heart as she politely tucked her head down, startling when the woodland king spoke to her. “Does that settle well with you, Aranel? Will you continue to allow my instruction, or do you prefer another tutor?” The hall was silent, waiting with bated breath for her response. One wrong slip would mean certain wrath. She tapped her lips with the napkin, fingers twisting under the table. “It… I'm thankful for the offer, my King,” she replied, careful not to sound breathless. “I would be honored to continue learning from such a gracious host.” The rest in attendance had exuded a collective sigh of approval, smiling benevolently at her. She could have given them all the finger. Not even a month ago, they were insulting her behind Thranduil’s back, some even bold enough to question his allowance of her at the table, as if she were no better than a rat!

“Then your lessons will resume again in the morning. I trust you’ll arrive early once again, it gives you more time to learn.” 

“Of course, my King.” Sara then ate delicate morsels from her plate, her expression passive as she politely chewed and swallowed, unable to properly react to its flavor. The food was exquisite, but she felt not only the eyes of the entire table on her, but Thranduil’s as well. They were judging her. Was it to see if she was the royal child that she was presented as, or something else? She was thankful that she remained sitting as she sipped on the elven wine, feeling a warm sensation drift over her and knew, if she continued, that she’d be drunk. Thankfully, a glass of water was left for her and she took it, remembering to be just as gentle as she had the wine. She couldn’t afford to make her father look bad, as well as the King of Eryn Galen. When the meal had finished, her father lingered with their host, and she had excused herself. “W-Will there be anything else you need, my King?” 

If Thranduil hadn’t known better, he would have thought he saw pain in her striking hazel eyes, and he inclined his head, allowing her to depart. _Gods, thank you. If I have to stay after crying this afternoon, I’ll break_ . _“Be sure to get some proper sleep, Aranel. I will need you at peak condition tomorrow for your lesson.”_ Just as he projected the words in her mind, the guard was attempting to help her, but the woodland king held up his hand. “Legolas will escort her. Your duties are done for the evening.” The guard’s jaw clenched imperceptibly, hidden by his armor as he bowed his head. Legolas stood, offering his hand to her, and upon accepting it, the guard turned on his heel and left. Sara saw the satisfaction, the arrogance, lighting Thranduil’s eyes, he even smirked, but didn’t offer a word as his son led her from the hall. Once they were out of sight of their fathers, she wavered, leaning on the prince. “I’ll never understand it,” she muttered, earning laughter from Legolas. “Understand what, exactly?” 

“Elven wine. What the hell- _how_ does your father find this stuff? I’ve never had anything that tasted like juice but makes me go ‘bam! Drunk!’ in a matter of _sips_.” 

As her ‘S’ dragged out, Legolas snorted with laughter, echoing off the stone as they ascended to the royal quarters. “Father is peculiar about the drink in his halls. He’s selective.” 

“Only the best?” The prince nodded, and though tipsy, she understood. From the books, he always seemed to be the type that got only the best. The guard Thranduil had dismissed had passed her in the hall, his gaze wistful as he offered a sad smile. “He likes you,” the prince murmured, earning Sara’s face to darken. “I… I don’t think… Ohh… this is so hard! I think he’s nice, yes. Sweet? Absolutely, but…” 

“But you don’t see him the same way.” She shook her head, the two finally at her chambers when a guard opened the door. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Legolas?” Pale blue, so striking like his father, met her weary hazel and she offered a tired grin. “Thank you, for… for training me today. Could we… would you train me some more? You were right… things don’t hurt so much right now.” Legolas smiled brightly and nodded, giving her a bow. “It would be my honor, princess. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Your Highness. Thank you again.” 

Once her door had closed, Sara carefully untied her hair from its intricate updo, setting the accessories on her night stand and began to undress, fumbling and tripped on the bed, huffing to herself. Of course she had to wear a complicated dress while she was dru- nevermind. It slid off as if it were water, and she quickly stepped into the silk night clothes that had been left for her. As she drifted into unconsciousness upon curling in the massive bed, she hugged a pillow tight to her chest, thinking about anything that wasn’t her host.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is outrageously long and for that I apologize!


	10. Chapter 10

What astounded Sara was that her body seemed to hold true to her word as much as she did. She rose before sunrise, dizzy as she dressed in a gown that reminded her of Halloween, her favorite holiday. Oranges and blacks across her dress, with leaves and trees stitched in, just barely visible against her as the fabric clung like no other. She swallowed thickly, however, clutching her arms, almost embracing herself. Thranduil would be teaching her to dance more. With a breath to become steadier, she opened her door, finding a guard ready to escort her. “His Majesty will certainly be impressed, my lady. How are you faring?” Then she realized- he was one of the guards outside her room when she cried to Legolas about being in love with the king. She cleared her throat, tucking her head down. “Don’t.” Then she met the guard’s eye, confusion in her own. “Do not hide away, my lady. You are revealed a princess, you should hold yourself as such.” 

“But I don’t know how,” she was almost pleading, searching his gaze. The guard lifted his chin in a manner that held a regal sense, his shoulders back. “Half or no, you are still a Sindarin elf, try walking as I just did.” 

"Like this?" She did so, and he smiled, encouraging her. “That’s the way. Are you well, my lady? I… must admit, your cries were wrenching yesterday.” Sara swallowed, but nodded, feeling an odd sense of relief settle over her shoulders. “I… I’m okay, I just… I’m scared. I don’t want to make His Majesty angry, and… and he’s been nicer than most. He’s been letting me stay here and I have almost nothing to show for it.” 

“Nothing to show for it?” The guard was disbelieving. “My lady, you are of royal blood! His Majesty Thranduil is already being spoken of as the king who saved a princess from certain death by orcs!”

”But I… I was human before and…” The guard shook his head, patting her hand. “You’re learning, princess, and you are the same as we- you are immortal. This knowledge isn’t instantaneous, but will come with time.” With a shaking breath, she nodded, inclining her head as she tried to remember not to bow, that they were to bow to her, that she was a princess.

She entered the great hall, its depths as echoing as the day before, and she padded around carefully, wondering if Thranduil truly would teach her again or if it would be another. Outside, the guard that had escorted her was met by him, the king’s gaze a suspicious one. “You’re not the one that advanced on her before.”

“No, Your Highness,” the guard replied with a low bow. “He retired for the night once you’d dismissed him. I was not aware one of our own possessed affections for the western princess.” Thranduil was analyzing him, seeing he spoke the truth and brushed past the guard. “It would happen to be so,” he confirmed, standing by the door. “See to it that he remains busy for the day. She cannot be distracted by someone below her station.” -

“Yes, my lord.” The guard left, and while Sara timidly walked through the room, she didn’t hear the king enter. “I know you’re close, Aranel. Why do you linger in the shadows?” Startled, she yelped, her steps cautious as she went to stand before him with a low curtsey. “Forgive me, my King. I didn’t know the hall was so large.” 

Her voice had begun to sound like music to him, timid though it was, and as he stood before her, he turned his gaze. Had she always been so beautiful? It was as though she was ensnaring him. When had it happened? Had it always been so, that she could enrapture him in such a way that he forgot everything else? Her eyes glittered brightly in their nervousness, but even she couldn’t hold his gaze for long. “Why do you turn from me so quickly?” Sara became still, swallowing thickly. “I…” He heard the sound catch in her throat, one close to a whimper before she spoke again. “I… I’m still not sure what is polite and what isn’t, my King. You’ve been generous, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” He smirked, stepping around her and removed his cloak, hanging it on a hook she hadn’t seen before. It left Thranduil in a regal, elven suit, one the shade of obsidian with flecks of topaz, his crown elsewhere. Still, much like the other times she’d seen him without, he was regal even without it. “You’re quite the cautious one, Aranel, and perhaps I should apologize for making you so.” 

She shook her head. “It… it’s not you, my King. I… I’ve always been like this, and… you don’t need to apologize. Not… not to me.” He offered his hand, encased in rings, and she shyly accepted, feeling his warmth circle around her fingers as he led her to a space where they could practice. “You are a princess, Aranel, it would only mean a sense of respect if I apologize for unnerving you so.” Scarlet rose against her features, but she didn’t change her stance. “You… My King, you are a commanding presence. It’s enough to make anyone nervous. Please… please don’t apologize to me. If… if my father hasn’t told you, I… don’t talk to many people, especially royalty.” He never even made a gesture, but the music had started, and his other hand had drifted to the small of her back, pulling her close to his frame. Sara’s breath caught, her hand tightening in his as the other rested against his chest. Gods… that muscle could kill her. She felt the way it rippled beneath his clothing and swallowed, suppressing the urge to whimper, to twist her fingers in the fabric. “My shoulder, Aranel.”

Thranduil’s voice had startled her from her reverie, and her hand moved to his shoulder, taken aback of how much larger he was than her. It didn’t help her heart, only making it beat harder, deafening and filled with hope, with affection, and her eyes averted. He can’t see the way I look at him. But the king’s mind was already suspicious. Did she mean to betray him? No, she wouldn’t have. He’d been in contact with her father long before she arrived, he arrived when he was supposed to. She’d even repeated her promise, that she would keep it. His hand moved to rest below her shoulderblades when he felt her heart beating. It was furious against his palm, and yet she still never met his eye. “Aranel.” A whimper escaped and she turned those hazel eyes… those captivating, alluring, all-consuming hazel eyes… up to his pale blue, and he could have sworn her lip quivered. He wanted nothing more than to stop their dance and stop that trembling lip with his own, the thought more maddening, more tempting than it had any right to be. 

Still angry with believing he’d betrayed his wife’s memory, he didn’t act upon the selfish desire, but reined in his conflict. Sara looked as though she were a mere bunny, ready to rip herself away and flee to safety at the slightest provocation. “Do you still fear me?” She shook her head, almost too fast for it to be honest, her hands shivering. “N-No, my King,” her timid voice replied, almost… no. That wasn’t possible. She almost sounded… submissive, more so than she had before. “I… I just don’t want to anger you or misstep, but… but you’ve kept a roof over my head and… I don’t know how to thank you for being so nice to me. I didn’t think…” She paused, swallowing before she licked her lip briefly, then bit the tender flesh in her nervousness. “I didn’t think my father was here… I thought I’d never see him again…” Understanding filled his eyes, and Thranduil paused. “You wish to go with him after the feast.” Her lips parted, but her head shook again. “No.”

“What do you mean, no? He’s your father. By the actions of yesterday, I’d have thought you wanted nothing more than to leave this place.” He could see her conflict, but couldn’t understand why. “I mean… I missed him, I missed him so much, but… I had some time to… to try to do things on my own, and… it scared me, but… if-if I don’t keep my promise to you, that would ruin everything.” He’d become aware she wasn’t solely referring to their agreement, and his head tilted curiously. “Ruin… what, exactly?” -

“It would ruin any good nature between you and my father, or any kindness you give to me, and… my lord, I… I’m sorry, but… kindness is hard for me to find. I don’t want to ruin it, and… I want to keep my promise. I didn’t lie about that.” Thranduil was overcome with the curiosity of what her lips would feel like against his own, he had even leaned closer toward her features, but he’d caught himself, instead whispering in her ear. “You don’t see the formidable queen you will make. People seldom hold true to their promises anymore, it is becoming a rare quality indeed. Don’t worry, _Nin gwilwileth_ , I have faith in you.” 

Her inhale was sharp as she trembled, timidly meeting his eyes and once again, he saw her hope. Hope and panic. “I… I don’t know,” she murmured, almost as if she were trying to hide against him. “My father raised me to… to keep my promises, and I do, I just… I keep giving people my trust when they do the same thing and then…” The words were unspoken, but he understood, too well. Promises to her were often broken. They probably viewed her as weak for not exacting revenge- he assumed she didn’t- not seeing how her strength lay in the ability to keep pressing forward, to not dwell. He didn’t know that she did dwell, but often learned from her mistakes and tried to avoid making them again. “Too often are words taken as that- simple words, nothing more, but there are a few who take value in them.” She swallowed audibly once more as their dance ended, and what threw Sara off was that the woodland king bowed to her, taking her hand and kissed her fingers. “Much better. You’re dismissed for now, Aranel. I will see you this afternoon to work with you further.” 

Sara nodded quickly, giving him another curtsey. “Thank you, my King…” 

_“...for everything…”_ She was gone before he could reply, leaving him in a true state of wonder. More than her words, it was the utter sincerity she’d given him, as if she were truly grateful for the things he’d done, knowing her promise would remain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but I hope it's enjoyable!


	11. Chapter 11

Word had spread like wildfire through the Greenwood of King Thranduil housing King Rinnion’s daughter, neither aware of who her father was, and when the woodland king proclaimed there would be a small celebration before the Feast of Harvest, the entire land was abuzz with preparations. Within days, more and more folk, from elves to humans alike, were beginning to camp outside of the elvenking’s halls, wondering who the girl was. When it was revealed that she was the winged girl he’d kept in his halls, the rumors flared more, people wondering what Thranduil wished with her, but no one ever truly knew the answer. Her magic was potent, he knew that, but it was as though he was the only one. He continued to teach her the proper way to dance, each passing day, her outfit would complement his in some fashion, and while she remained timid in his presence, her skill was improving. Yet as her skill grew, so did other things within the king’s halls. 

That guard had accompanied her often, the one harboring affection for her, and though he grieved his wife still, something ugly and dark rose within him as he saw her with the guard. Yet each time his demeanor became biting toward her, she was truly unaware of why, turning away to not reveal her tears. Shouldn’t she have been around him long enough to determine that his shifts in demeanor were a frequent occurrence? Though he tried to rein in his distaste for the guard, he found himself often keeping tabs on her regardless if that one was around her or not. Who was she speaking to, what did she do in her free time, what made her laugh, or smile, among many others. He wondered if she sang, what the melody would sound like on her tongue, what her stories were filled with if she claimed to be a storyteller. The thoughts were all encompassing and rare in various intervals. Did she enjoy the forest? What would be her ideal place to live? Did she have a favorite flower? 

The more the questions persisted, the more sleep he lost, often staring at the intricate pillars within his room as he paced, drinking more wine than he had since… well, not _that_ much. He didn’t think he had, anyway. The celebration for her reuniting with her father was only two days away, she’d been in his halls for two moons since her arrival, and still, their dance lessons continued. She had improved tremendously, no longer quite as rigid or prone to stumbling as she was before, moving in perfect sync with him. “And the final step… perfect. You’re dancing has greatly improved, Aranel. You should be pleased.” Sara had given Thranduil a low curtsey, head bowed. “Thank you, my King, but… I’ve only improved because you’ve been patient in teaching me.” He grinned, inclining his head. “When there is an eternity with a world to learn of, patience is an asset.” The woodland king had noticed the entire time she’d been there, her mannerisms and demeanor had been oddly human, entirely foreign to the humans he’d encountered before, but she was learning quickly, surprising even him. 

Though he noticed a few times that she looked as though she wanted to speak on things, she often kept her mouth tightly closed, uncertainty wavering in her gaze. This time was no different, and while he wasn’t expecting an answer, but for her to evade his questions, he asked again anyway. “Something has been troubling you, Aranel, and for some time. What is it?” She recoiled slightly, chewing her lip as her fingertips rested over her mouth. “I…” But Sara had shaken her head, withdrawing into herself. “Nothing important, my lord.”

“If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t be dwelling on it so fiercely.” _Shit_. The music had since stopped, and she tapped her lips gently, as if deciding on something. She knew she couldn’t refuse an order from her host, but he wasn’t ordering her- “Speak, Aranel, be honest.” - _damn it_. She inhaled shakily, arms around herself. “I… I know you tell me that, as a princess, I should know how to dance, but… who… why…” Again, her head shook, but the elvenking grinned, showing his pearlescent teeth. “I’m sure you’re aware that your title answers both of those questions. The who, because you are your father’s daughter, princess of the Western Lands. The why for the same reason. But from the look in your eyes, you’re wondering specifically who will dance with you and why.”

The moment she averted her gaze, Thranduil knew he was right. “You will remember I told you that your father will have the first dance, correct?” Her hazel drifted to his pale blue and she nodded meekly. “That dance marks the two of you reuniting officially, as a statement of sorts. He has welcomed you back, in essence. Afterward, your next dance could be anyone of noble standing, typically those with interest will offer their hand for you to accompany them, in which case, refusing is an insult." - _God damnit_. - “But you will remember that you are in my home, Aranel, do not think just any noble is appropriate to dance with.” Confusion lit her features as he took languid strides, filling his chalice with wine. Conflict rose in his own- his possessiveness had almost shown. It shouldn’t have- elves only had one partner for their entire lives, someone to spend eternity with, but… something about her… No. No, absolutely not. His jaw flexed, angered with himself again, and a little toward the princess herself for making him so confused, for making him lose sleep, but he also needed the alliance with her father, especially in the days to come. 

Smaug hadn’t been seen nor heard of for sixty years… did the dragon sleep? Was it gone? The woodland king knew it had to be there still, but those gems he so avidly sought were as well, which meant he would never see them. “You may go,” his tone was colder than he’d intended, and he heard her sharp breath before she cleared her throat, footsteps quiet as she left the hall. “ _...he hates me… I don’t know how to say I’m sorry… what did I do wrong?_ ”- By the time the elvenking had turned on his heel, Sara was gone. His mouth had parted, shock replacing his conflict. They hadn’t worked on her mind-opening exercises in a week, though she had a gift for it, but the woodland king didn’t think she’d meant to convey that to him. He didn’t hate her, she was like any other maiden in his lands, but… why would she think such thoughts? He supposed most people thought he hated them, sipping his wine idly before leaving the hall as well. “My lord,” a guard had approached, bowing low. “Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel have arrived from Imladris with Mithrandir for the feast. They wish to meet the Princess Aranel.”

Thranduil sighed, setting his chalice aside after finishing his drink, striding through his halls until he’d come upon his throne, finding the new arrivals and King Rinnion standing before it, talking comfortably. So many half-breeds running through his halls… He could have sneered, keeping his features composed as he strode closer to them, regal as ever despite his crown being in his chambers. Sara was a half-breed, she wasn’t fit to be princess, and he reminded himself of her half-elven blood to try to dissuade the conflict, to settle his resolution. It was easier to be bitter, to be cold, as everyone expected. “Thranduil,” Mithrandir bowed his head, and his gnarled hand wrapped firmly around his staff. “Mithrandir, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel,” The woodland king bowed his head to them, shoulders drawn back. Elrond and Galadriel bowed their heads in return, the utterance of “Thranduil” leaving their lips in unison. “I’m going to assume that the reason for your visit is _not_ because of the feast.” He knew better, he knew they wanted to get their curious eyes and hands all over the newly discovered princess, the faerie within his halls. It was Elrond that spoke first, hands folded neatly in front of him.

“The feast holds the elves’ attention from miles away, Thranduil, but word has reached us that your guest is not only a princess, but possessing an ancient bloodline that was thought to have died out.” Rinnion hadn’t spoken, merely observing the scene, the same as Galadriel, who found it more interesting to gaze upon the massive halls of the woodland king. “A faerie,” Mithrandir spoke, matter-of-fact. “One possessing actual wings. How did you come by her, Thranduil? What is the reason you’ve kept her here?”

“You know as well as I that the Greenwood is sick, Mithrandir, plagued by spiders and other creatures of darkness that seek to consume all they touch. I have patrols that keep them from my lands when they report to me that they’d found a girl. I had no idea of what she was until her wings were revealed. She confirmed herself what she is. Neither she nor I had an inkling of her family, she thought she had no one, that her father was dead.” The woodland king bristled, daring the wizard to challenge him further, the two heated and unseeing of the approach from below. Sara’s hazel turned up, hearing their voices, spotting the gathering and swallowed thickly.

Of course, the guards had told her who wished to speak with her, but her nervousness grew, unable to believe she was meeting Gandalf, Galadriel, and Elrond. The Lady Galadriel saw her arrival, but said nothing, merely meeting her gaze with a gentle acceptance. “Your duty is done, Thranduil. You’ve kept her protected and now her father is here. She can go home, to take her place as Princess of the Western Lands. Why has she not departed with Rinnion as of yet?” Gandalf had almost snapped at her host, but Sara was within earshot, her voice rendering them silent. “Because I made a promise to help him,” she spoke with more confidence than she felt. She met her father’s eye briefly, then Thranduil’s, then searched between the other three. “His Majesty has given me shelter from orcs, and I don’t even know what else. He has told me he senses power within me and has been helping me to learn how to harness it.” Gandalf’s eyes had narrowed, but not on her, he was glaring at her host. “You seek to use her power for the Greenwood, for your own benefit-” 

“And if that’s what he wants, then he shall have it!”

Surprise flashed over everyone’s features, Thranduil included, and Sara swallowed thickly. “I never wanted power,” she admitted softly, whispering as her eyes stung. “I didn’t before I arrived in Middle Earth and I don’t want it now. If… If my King wishes to use my power, then he is blessing me by taking it.” _Please take it, I don’t want it_. Gandalf appeared incensed, sighing heavily. “Power does not fleet from one person to the next, child, whoever is born with their abilities will die with them. They cannot be given away.” Her breath caught, a tear rolling down her cheek. She would never leave Mirkwood. In order to fulfill her promise to Thranduil, she would have to stay. Sara cleared her throat, steeling herself. “Then I stay in Eryn Galen. I will _not_ take back my word. From anyone.” She purposely avoided their eyes, staring only at the wizard, as if the two were in a battle of wills. She couldn’t even face her father in that moment. Gandalf himself softened a bit, stepping closer to her. “Making a promise to elves is not a light undertaking.”

“I know, promises made to me mean just as much. I will honor it the way I would want someone to honor their word to me.” 

She wasn’t sure how her father felt about it all, if he would want her to break her promise and go to the Western Lands with him, or if he would allow her to keep her word. She knew the only way to deal with the matter was honoring her oath, whether her stance angered him or not. All eyes were on her father then, but they lingered on her, each of them curious as to what the western elf king would say or think. “Your word is your bond,” his voice confirmed it, solidifying her word before all of them. “She’s capable of making her own decisions- if she made a promise, she needs to keep it.”

“And this is the Princess of the Western Lands,” Elrond offered her a gentle smile, trying to assuage her panic. He was half-elven, like her! Each of them bowed their heads in greeting, but her father introduced her by her Elven name. “My daughter, Aranel Vanyalanthiriel.” After he’d done so, the others began their introductions. “My name is Gandalf, though they call me Mithrandir,” he offered with a cheeky grin. “With me is Lord Elrond of Imladris and Lady Galadriel, the Lady of Lorien. We were looking forward to meeting you since we had heard of your stay with King Thranduil.” 

Sara managed a small smile and a curtsey, feeling both Thranduil and her father’s eyes burning into her. “His Majesty has been very kind in providing my shelter and helping me learn all I can. It’s wonderful to meet you all.” 

“You are more like your father than we expected, Princess,” Elrond had approached her, his hand outstretched to take her own. “But you are far gentler.” As the color rose against her features, the muscle in Thranduil’s jaw twitched. “Though her tongue would suggest otherwise,” Gandalf chuckled under his breath. “I think her power would say the same.” They could feel her gifts burning within her, and she knew each of them were gifted enough to sense the darkness blocking her memories. The color in Sara’s face had since darkened, but the Lady Galadriel had approached, an intensity in her pale gaze. “Something seeks to claim you,” she took Sara’s hand from Elrond’s, turning it over before clasping it tightly. “It can’t be…” As if horrified by something, the elven woman abruptly released her hand, concern replacing the terror. “She is not safe.” On edge, everyone gathered closer to her, looking over her entirely for some mark- everyone, except for Thranduil and Galadriel. 

“It is within her- something has blocked her mind- an unholy power that has long been forgotten by Man, only we who are eternal remember.” Elrond became still, then Gandalf, but her father had guided Galadriel to sit at the steps of Thranduil’s throne. “A necromancer, one you have faced and refuted, Rinnion. His power is tied to that of Sauron directly.” Sara’s stomach plummeted and her legs wavered, terror coursing up her spine. “Wh-what?” Just as she began to fall, Elrond, Thranduil, and Gandalf caught her, keeping her upright. “Sauron? But… I don’t…” Pain lanced through her skull and she winced, hissing as her head fell forward. Symbols she’d seen only the once with Thranduil burned the backs of her eyelids, the girl forcing herself not to cry. Not again. She’d spent too many times in tears since she’d been there, the last thing she wanted was to be considered a crybaby. “How long has she been here, Thranduil?” Elrond asked, turning his concern to the woodland king. “Two moons past as it stands. Does her presence endanger my kingdom?” 

His tone was thick with suspicion, as if ready to exile her at a moment’s notice, but it was the Lady who’d spoken again. “The Greenwood is why she hasn’t been discovered. Your halls have prevented it as she strengthens the enchantments. She will not be safer anywhere else.” Hazel eyes were pleading as they searched her king’s pale blue, terrified of what never came. “Her ancient blood ties her to the Wood, they strengthen the other. Your halls have never been more formidable.” The faerie was visibly shaken, holding Gandalf’s arm as she began to regain her bearings as the wizard informed her host that it was her that kept his enchantments stronger, that his forest and people had never been safer. An answer settled within all of them then, an unspoken agreement. She would have to remain in Mirkwood- it wasn’t solely her promise binding her to the King anymore. Thranduil remained in thought, his stormy gaze remaining on Sara. Realization settled over his features, his expression almost gentle. “What of her memories that are barricaded?” 

“She has no memory of her arrival?” Sara shook her head, fingers twitching as Thranduil took hold of her arm to prevent her from stumbling. “None, which I can only assume is also why her power has yet to reveal itself. The dark symbols within her mind prevent her from remembering.” 

“What will happen if… if the barriers are removed?” She searched between them all, terrified that something dark would happen if the symbols were gone. Galadriel was looking at her intently once more, as if everyone around them had faded away. “They are not simple barriers,” she replied, the tone more ominous as it continued. “They are trackers, siphoners. They must be removed. Sauron and Sauron alone can track you with those marks, it is also how he is siphoning your power and blocking your memory.” Sara paled, whiter than the Lady’s dress, a cold sweat pricking the base of her skull. Her life was in very real danger. Her father saw it, too, and she knew what he would think, what he would say. 

“Th-then take them away, please, I… I can’t put anyone in danger…” 

“It will take time,” Gandalf spoke then, nodding to the elves from Imladris. “And it will be painful, but we shall stay to see the barriers removed.” Her breaths trembled, nodding as she stared at the floor and steeled herself, straightening. “For now, it’s best we get on as best we can until then. That includes her crowning and the feast.” Thranduil had released her, slowly, not saying a word as the wizard held her arm and sighed, his mind elsewhere. As he did so, each of them were silent as well, but Galadriel’s voice rang clear in her mind. _“You love him.”_ Startled, her breath caught, looking between the others. _“They cannot hear unless they are connected. But… you love the King of Eryn Galen.”_

_“Y-Yes… and it hurts.”_

_“It would not be love if it did not from time to time. He does not know your affections either.”_

_“N-No, I can’t… I can’t tell him. I don’t want to be exiled.”_

_“But secrets can also bring pain. You are aware of this.”_

_“I am. But… but he…”_

_“You think him incapable of loving another, but there are things that remain unseen with Thranduil. Be watchful.”_

Nothing more was said as the wizard led her away, the others unaware that Galadriel had told Gandalf that Sara was in love with the woodland king. The others departed shortly after, with Elrond leading Galadriel to a more reclusive place within the Greenwood’s halls, and King Rinnion needed a word with his daughter, leaving Thranduil on his throne. Only two moons had passed since Sara’s arrival, mysterious and out of place. Briefly, he wondered if the faerie was a pawn of Sauron’s, meant to destroy what he had left of his lands, but her outright fear at the mention of the dark lord assured him otherwise. Rinnion, however, was tense before departing, and Thranduil remembered what Galadriel had said- Sara’s father had faced the necromancer that sought to claim his kingdom, the necromancer now directly fixed to the princess’s mind with barriers, hindering her magic and memories. 

She was strengthening his lands according to the Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir, strengthening his will and enchanted halls, as if she enhanced them, and solely because her ancient blood was tied to his lands, to all of Eryn Galen. Was it relief that coursed through him when he heard she needed to remain, for her safety and that of the Greenwood? Or was it some twisted glee? Unsure, he knew she had to remain- she had been adamant on it when the wizard had accused him of using her for his own benefit. She’d even become… heated, protective, and though her height was lacking, she impressed them all with her loyalty to King Thranduil, himself included. No one had ever frequently argued with the wizard before, but she refused to back down, insisting she knew what she was doing. A small smirk twisted the corner of his lips then. Loyalty was a jewel rarer than even the Arkenstone, far too many sought it, but there was hardly a time where one truly possessed it. She had only been there for two months and her word was unshakeable. 

Her father, however, was less than thrilled, in his chambers provided by his friend upon the realization that his daughter was as stubborn as he was. She was in danger, but he felt he could best protect her from the horrors that wait just beyond the Greenwood. The forest was growing sick, its lands being infested over and over again despite the patrols sent out and eradicating them, surely his kingdom was safer. As he paced his room, he thought over the events that had transpired, curious as to how his daughter got there, and how long she’d been in Middle Earth without his, or anyone’s knowledge. His daughter’s crowning was due to take place before the feast, one days before the other, and the celebrations would last for some time. He would need a gift for his little girl, more so than her crown, and waved down Alyan to dispatch to the finer markets around the area. “Find something fitting,” he gave the guard a sack of coins. “Something that lets everyone know she is the star of the Western Lands.” Alyan departed at once. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara's crowning is only days away, with the feast soon to follow. With the arrival of Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Mithrandir, things become more complicated, revealing that now, it is more than her oath tying her to the woodland realm and Thranduil himself.

With the arrival of King Rinnion, and her crowning being only two days away, her lessons had paused entirely, the woodland kingdom a flurry of activity. Servants were bustling everywhere to ensure everything was perfect, bringing all manner of gowns to the princess, having her fitted for ‘something befitting royalty’, when she felt like a tent. “I have enough thigh for anyone to grab involuntarily,” she groaned to a maid. “Why do I have to advertise it?” The maid snickered, laughing outright as Sara stood before a mirror, stuck with pins and the seamstress began hemming her gown. “It is appropriate for a princess,” the seamstress insisted, indignant. “The royal kings are aware that you will be seen, and it should be a sight worth remembering.” 

“So long as I’m not ass over teakettle, I think we’re good.” 

“PRINCESS!” The maid had lost all composure, in a fit of teary giggles on the floor as she clutched her sides, while the princess had covered her mouth in an ‘oops’ expression. 

Sara’s own giggles were soft as the maid regained herself, the two sharing a silent grin with one another. The fabric the seamstress had chosen was something in full autumnal splendor, reds and orangish-golds and blacks, and though it was puffy at first, the holds were removed as it was sewn, and fell over her like a waterfall. She looked impossibly beautiful- and dangerous. Even the western princess fell silent upon the sight, earning a smug reaction from the woman sewing. The flecks of orangish-gold were scattered in a way that looked to be leaves blowing from their branches in a breeze, well within black lace over crimson silk. “O-Oh…” Her hushed awe didn’t go unnoticed, but so lost in the sight that she didn’t know her crown had been finished. “There, now, do you wear cosmetics, princess? While it is common for humans to do so, it is not elven custom-” 

“We’ll do it the Elven way,” Sara replied softly, feeling her wings shift within her. “I… I’ve worn eyeliner, but… we’re in King Thranduil’s halls. The last thing I want is to insult him when he’s been so benevolent.”

The maid and the seamstress shared disbelieving stares. Thranduil,  _ benevolent _ ? “What?” When the two remained uncertain, the faerie sighed and her hands began to fidget. “I… don’t think either of you know, do you? People… have never been nice to me. Only… only my family and a friend I can never see again, but… everyone else treats me as though I’m diseased. His Majesty has kept me sheltered and fed, has even taught me things, so… I repeat myself- he’s been a great king.” The two bore the same sympathetic expression and she held her hands up as their mouths opened. “Please don’t pity me. Maybe I can start over while I’m here, hm?” - _ Maybe I won’t have to see Thranduil and have my heart tear itself apart _ , she thought foolishly. She hadn’t seen much of anyone since the meeting with Elrond, Galadriel and Gandalf, but things were brought to light then that had probably made everyone averse to her presence, Thranduil included. Even her father hadn’t spoken much to her. 

She’d stepped from the pedestal, the alterations complete, and left the room to get some air, unaware that the halls were filling quickly with guests and party-goers. She’d passed several, each of them inclining their heads politely as they journeyed to make their presences known to the woodland king. Pale blue caught her form, noting the gown she wore and how it matched his red cloak, but she hadn’t seen him. He’d stood from his throne, excusing himself to follow her, finding her standing just at the doors. His eyes narrowed- was she trying to leave, on the day of her crowning? As she placed a hand on the massive structure, someone had called out behind her- a guard, jogging to catch up. Not just any guard- the one who’d harbored feelings for her. Sara withdrew, fidgeting with her skirts. “Princess, you’re lovelier than ever,” he bowed lowly, and though her face colored, Thranduil saw her discomfort. She’d been telling the truth. The guard approached, tilting his head. “You’re leaving?” Sara shook her head. “No, just… getting some air- there’s… a lot of people and I… I need to gather myself.” 

“I should accompany you, I can see to your safe return,” he offered proudly. “If you’re worried about His Majesty, I can assure you he’s busy welcoming the new arrivals.” 

“I…” But the guard had taken her hand, bringing her outside, neither aware of the rage burning in Thranduil’s gaze. That brazen, overreaching... “Come on,” he urged despite her unsure steps, pulling her out the door. Sara was panicked, meanwhile, terrified the woodland king would see her with the one he didn’t want her around. Quickly, she ripped her hand away, not knowing that while the king  _ had  _ seen, he’d went to his chambers, pacing as he thought on how to best handle the situation the days before her crowning. He couldn’t say something publicly, nor in front of her- exile. The guard would have to be exiled for reaching above his station, for trying to put foolish thoughts in the princess’s head. Half-breed or no, a princess was a princess, and while her beauty lingered in his mind, he continued to fight it. 

She was endearing herself to him, but it wasn’t love. It couldn’t have been. He was doing his duty as king to ensure his friend’s daughter wasn’t coerced by someone of lesser standing, by a Silvan elf, of all things. More still, he wouldn’t mix with a half-breed. As he thought on how to inform the guard of his fate, the Silvan elf had been trying to discern why she tore herself away from him. The king hadn’t seen, he knew better than to let the Great Elvenking Thranduil spot him after the duties he’d been given to keep him away from the princess. Why would the King even care? It wasn’t as if… that’s when it hit him then. The king was possessive over the girl because something was stirring within him. Unless it was so she wouldn’t be distracted from her promise… “Princess, he cannot see us now,” he murmured, stepping closer to her. “N-No, but… but we shouldn’t…” The color refused to drain from her features. Men never paid attention to her, the sensation was odd, and not possessing any romantic affection for the one before her, it made her uncomfortable.

“We aren’t doing anything wrong, Princess,” he promised. His tone was soothing, but she didn’t feel any better. The guard had picked a flower, one the shape of stars and placed it in her hair, the color a bright shade that drew attention to her eyes. “The flower looks even lovelier in your hair instead of the ground,” his tone was still soft, but her discomfort rose, and carefully, she began to turn, hoping to avoid his advances. She was stepping along the path that led away from the woodland realm, deep within the Greenwood as he followed her. “Are you excited for your crowning this evening?” The question was so different than how he’d acted before that she could have scoffed, meeting his pale gaze with her hazel. “N-No, actually, I… I don’t know how to feel about it. So many people, watching me, I…” She sighed, heavily, running her fingers along the weakened branches that hung in the path, feeling something resonate with her and it. She was sharing something with it, and the wind blew softly through what leaves remained. It was as though the tree had thanked her for something, like it was alive.

“You could not go,” the guard offered, and instantly, she shook her head. “No, I have to. My father is here and… and His Majesty has had a crown made to mark the ceremony. I can’t run.” The two became silent, and just before her, she could see something in the middle of the path. A statue.  _ His Queen _ . She swallowed thickly, but she had to pay her respects, having done it once before, but feared to in that moment. “Why don’t you go with your father once the feast has ended? I could come with you- your father is more at ease with the importance of station than most elves.” 

“I… it’s a long story, but I… I can’t leave. I gave my word.” 

“And he will find another to aid him.” He’d touched her then, running his hand along her hair and she flinched, drawing back from him. “You don’t understand,” she replied defensively. “If someone breaks their promise to me, it hurts more than anything. I won’t do that to anyone else. I… I need to think.” It was subtle enough without outright telling the elf that she wanted to be alone, and the guard understood well enough that he’d retreated, casting a wistful glance over his shoulder before he’d went to Thranduil’s halls. 

Sara, however, set her eyes upon the statue of the late queen, her heart in shambles. She was frightened- she loved the woman’s husband, despite never having a truly tender moment with him. She should beg for forgiveness… As she crept closer, she was unaware that Thranduil had stood just outside of his doors, no other guards present save for two. His gaze was stormy, striding to the guard halfway over his river path and stopped him entirely. “You’re clearly the overreaching sort, aren’t you?” The guard was immediately taken back, trying to cover his tracks. “My King?” He bowed, but Thranduil sneered, his arms crossed. “The princess is of higher standing than you, a lowly Silvan elf, whether she is half Sindarin or not, and you’ve not once respected that station. I would not see her pledge herself to you while she remains in my halls.” Confusion lit the guard’s features, his breathing heavier as he swallowed. “What have you done with her? She is not in your company- did you do something unseemly upon being rejected?” 

“No, my King! She is just at the statue of your queen.” Pale blue eyes were alight with equal parts rage and curiosity, but his features betrayed nothing. “That remains to be seen. As it stands, you are hereby exiled from the Greenwood. Be lucky it wasn’t your life that I sought.” 

As he brushed past him, trailing down the path to find the faerie, the guard himself tried passing the guards on the bridge, blocked by spears before they threw him on the other side, Thranduil’s will paramount. It seemed, with her present, she enforced his will, enhanced it, and a barrier had erected between the guard and the bridge, prohibiting his entry back into the palace. The woodland king, however, had drifted along further into the Wood, finding a branch that felt livelier as he brushed past it. His eyebrows knit together, but he continued on, hearing the princess sniff. He was hidden enough from view that she wouldn’t see him, but he could see her clearly. Sara was crying, wiping her eyes and removing the vines from his wife’s statue, the gesture tender from her. “I wish I could do something,” she spoke softly, tracing the face of the statue. “No one else understands, but… you would. I know you would…”

Her breaths were shaking, but she remained diligent, not stopping in her removal of the vines. “How do I stop being so scared?” She breathed. Thranduil almost didn’t catch it, still reining back his shock at seeing her treat the statue as if she were a living being. “How do I make it stop hurting?” Sara placed a small hand on the statue’s arm, her tears running freely. “I’m only a half-breed, but I promise you, my queen, that I will do everything I can to make sure no harm comes to your lands or your people. I will give my life if I must, but… this place is more of a home than I’ve known in a long time. I… I have to go now, but… I’ll come back. I need to finish removing the vines so people can admire you when they pass. But… f-for now, I can at least make sure you’re not hurt.” With a steadying breath, she removed something from around her neck, placing it on the statue’s instead. A long, thin chain, something that glittered as bright as the stars in the sky. Thranduil had held his breath- what was she doing? 

Protective as he was over the monument, he felt no hostility from the faerie that had cried to his dead wife, swearing to remain to protect the lands and everyone within. As the chain was draped around the stone, the ground shuddered, and the woodland king had begun to step forward when a shimmer of starlight cloaked the statue. It enveloped the stone as if embracing it before disappearing, leaving the chain to twinkle merrily. Sara sniffed and offered a sad smile. The woodland king was curious as to where she came by such a trinket, and from who. “There, now… now the protection should hold on you, but… but I’ll come back to finish clearing the vines. I… I have to go now. Th-thank you, my queen, for listening.” She made a small curtsey, turning on her heel and wiping her eyes, not once seeing Thranduil, nor that he’d seen her. As she passed him, a hushed wonder was over his features, his mouth parted slightly, turning his gaze from the statue to the faerie. His grief was inconsolable, he would forever mourn her, but then… this girl knew nothing of his wife, why would she make such a promise?

It couldn’t have solely been her word to him, nor the revelation from Elrond, Galadriel and Mithrandir about her safety or her ancient blood. Once she was out of view, he quietly returned to his halls, vaguely hearing passing guards asking one another where the one had gone. Sara was in another cavernous hall, speaking with Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond himself. Where Mithrandir had gone, it was difficult to say, but the princess seemed comfortable around the Imladris native and the Lady of Lorien, at least at more ease than she had been near that exiled guard. She was… Lord Elrond had made her smile, laugh even, the sound light as a breeze and just as pleasant, though she covered her mouth politely. The Rivendell lord had made a gesture to her dress and she waved her hand, lips moving, earning laughter from both as she made a light twirl. He didn’t know she’d told them about her fiasco while being fitted that morning. Their expressions became somber, however, as if the topic had changed.

“Have you given any thought to how you will best handle the visions you might receive?” Elrond had asked curiously. Sara fidgeted, her hands twisting in front of her. “I… I don’t know. Usually, I just… I don’t know what I’ll do. If… if something horrible is beneath these marks, it’s hard to say.” He inclined his head, faintly meeting Thranduil’s gaze, the woodland king meeting with King Rinnion. “Imladris has skilled healers who could help in such times, even I.” he offered kindly, but Sara shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, Lord Elrond, but… I made a promise. I… it wouldn’t be good if I left right now. Not after Mithrandir said only days ago that I help make the Greenwood stronger.” She truly wouldn’t part from the place. “When… when will we begin?” They were walking through the halls then, only hours before her crowning. “After you’re crowned, for certain, then once Mithrandir has returned, we can begin. He should arrive in a few days.” Sara nodded, stopping at her chambers and curtsied to the elven lord. “Thank you, Lord Elrond, your kindness speaks volumes and I cannot thank you enough.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise in the woodland realm. Just after she is crowned, the voice of nightmares plagues her, inflicting garish wounds. Upon her father finding out, Rinnion is set on taking his daughter back to his kingdom, and a fight ensues.

Before her crowning, a guard had knocked on her door. “His Majesty Thranduil wishes for you to report to his chambers. Your father is there.” 

“O-Oh! Yes! I’ll be right out!” She hurriedly fixed her hair, hiding her fidgeting fingers in her long sleeves and timidly stepped from her chambers, a guard waiting to escort her. Why did her host wish to see her- in his _bedroom_ , with her father there? Had her father been there or not, she would have remained confused, the knock echoing when they arrived before Thranduil bid her to enter. “There is no need to hide, Aranel, come forth.” Gods above… his voice was so damn melodic, and though she hadn’t heard it for the morning, she didn’t realize how much she missed the sound. Carefully, she padded closer to the kings, her father in awe. “Wow, my little girl’s finally in a dress that fits where she belongs,” he murmured, and Sara could have sworn she saw pride in the woodland king’s eyes. “I… _Dad_ …” 

“I know you’re not too keen on dresses, but-” 

“I know, dad. I need to get used to it. I’m fine, really, I just… it’s still a process. I’m still taking everything in.” 

She curtsied low to Thranduil, color dusting her features despite him barely speaking, then to her father. “You’re aware of how the crowning will take place, Aranel?” When she shook her head, nervousness palpable, he gestured for her to follow him. She cast a glance to her father, urging her to go on, and did as she was told, following the woodland king to a set of steps that lay aside from a massive bed with silk sheets. _Stop looking at his fucking bed!_ Thankfully, neither he nor her father noticed, and Sara chewed her lip, hazel eyes staring up at the king with a sort of wistfulness. He was so regal, entirely ethereal as he took her breath away. She’d never get used to the sight, she knew that, and there, her heart ached again. “When the time comes, I will announce the people who’ve arrived, conducting a speech that will tell them of how you were found in my forests and being chased by orcs, that my patrol struck them down and brought you to safety. After which, they will know that neither of us were aware of your father being alive, that your memories had believed him dead until you two reunited a fortnight past. Once you two have been spoken of, your father will stand beside me, giving a speech of his own, and then we call you to take your crown.”

Sara swallowed thickly. Despite knowing she could listen to him for hours, the realization was setting in that she was going to publicly be crowned before the entire Greenwood. “H-How…” Pale blue fell on her, his expression somewhat amused. “With myself as king, your father as my esteemed guest, I will then conduct you to kneel, and he shall crown you.” She cleared her throat, tucking her head down as her hands twisted. Public displays scared the shit out of her- she wanted to run, but her father caught it. “It’s only for a few minutes, sissy. Long enough for Thranduil to bring you before everyone, then I put the crown on your head. I bow, you curtsey, then we face them.” Thranduil had come down the steps, tilting her chin up. “Act like you were meant to wear it- they will search for any signs of weakness.” Sara’s breath caught, the red dusting over her nose as she searched her king’s gaze. “I… I will do my best, my King.” Satisfaction glimmered in those beautiful eyes of his as he released her, her father leaving first, waiting for her by the door. “The dress suits you,” Thranduil murmured, low enough where only she could hear. “You look beautiful.” 

Before he left, a glimmer passed through his gaze, but it disappeared as quick as it had shown itself. Sara, unable to breathe, felt her knees weaken as the color darkened against her cheeks- her father was watching. Another heavy breath left her as she began to shakily rejoin her father, the western king putting a hand on her shoulder. Matching hazel met and Rinnion sighed, concern in his eyes. “You’ve got it _bad_ , sissy.” 

“Dad, please don’t say anything!” She hissed, hurriedly clenching her eyes closed to fight the tears. “I know I can never… that there will never be a thing to come of it. There’s no chance for me, he loved her. I’ve never known a love like that-” 

“You mean one where someone loved you that much that wasn’t family.” A cry shook her chest and she hurriedly strangled it, shaking her head. “Dad, please… I don’t want to be crying in front of everyone when you put the crown on my head.” He hugged her then, and it took every ounce of will not to break down as her father held her. “That’s how much I loved your mother, sissy, but… sometimes, people surprise you. I didn’t think I’d ever… not after your mother…”

Her eyes widened and she straightened, hands on her father’s shoulders. “What!? Dad…” her voice had lowered as they left their host’s chambers, noting Thranduil was close by. “You met someone? When? Who is she? What’s her name? What’s she like? Does she treat you right? Is she good with others? Does she help you with your kingdom?” 

“Jesus Christ, sissy, that’s a ton of questions!” She shuffled awkwardly, keenly aware that their host was watching, but her father laughed and kissed her head. “I promise you’ll like her, she’s… she’s got a head on her shoulders and she can fight back. Reminds me of your mother.” Already, the faerie was beginning to smile. “As long as you two are happy and she treats you right, that’s part of love, and I won’t interfere. I’m happy for you, dad.” Thranduil had watched the two, curiosity in his gaze upon seeing Sara close to tears, but her demeanor had drastically shifted, her questions and curiosity bringing an amused smile to his features, so did ones of his own. Her father had taken to someone, of that he knew, but he was also aware that his friend had a woman before- a woman that was Sara’s mother. He would need to speak with Rinnion to find out if it was just a passing fling or something more serious. 

They could hear people talking amongst one another, music playing, and the audible toast every so often before the crowd fell into hushed silence as Thranduil stood above them all, just before his throne and descended the steps, his baritone still melodious as ever as it rang through the halls to each and every one in attendance. “We aren’t due to start the Feast of Harvest for a few days,” he began, and Sara had taken a spot beside Lord Elrond, the man murmuring his congratulations as her father stood beside Lady Galadriel. “Yet many of you are already aware that my guest and dear friend, King Rinnion of the Western Lands, is among those in attendance.” Her father then began to ascend, standing beside the woodland king. “As I welcome you all to my halls, I would bid another welcome as well. She has been here only two moons past, where she was rescued by my patrols from a pack of orcs. She has had no memory of her event that led her to my forests, nor that she had anyone to call upon for home or shelter. I have provided such, and upon the arrival of my friend, she and her father were reunited after years of separation.” 

Thranduil’s eyes met hers, a simple command that never left his lips. It was her turn to ascend and stand in front of him. Her legs shook, fear rising within her and twisting her stomach, calmed only when Lord Elrond placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder. He was smiling, giving her a sense of confidence to allow her to continue. As she arrived beside the woodland king, he continued. “It was made known to me shortly after her arrival that while she is half-elven, she possesses an ancient bloodline we had all thought extinct. She is part faerie. Aranel Vanyalanthiriel, please kneel.” _Gods when he says my Elvish name like that…_ Her stomach had tightened despite the encouragement from her father and the elven lord below, her name flowing from Thranduil’s tongue in a way that made her thighs clench, and she was silently thankful that no one could see through her dress. Sara knelt down, politely clasping her hands before her when the woodland king had revealed her crown, passing it to her father. 

The crown was more beautiful than she could fathom, and her eyes stung. King Thranduil had that made specifically for her when he didn’t have to. There was no kingly duty, nor was there any sort of bond between them that she knew beyond him teaching her, and the crown before her, in her father’s hands, was the most breathtaking trinket she’d ever seen. It appeared to be a circlet, a diadem of sorts, the metal curving to fit her head perfectly, twisted and melded into what looked like a braid, but the focus… the focus of the crown, the centerpiece, was a gem, an emerald. While the braid of the crown was made from a white metal, there were what looked to be antlers coming from the gem, ones that looked to be made from tiny stags. _It matches his somewhat_ . _Did he do that on purpose, knowing I can’t leave?_ Her father stepped forward, his demeanor that of a leader, of a ruler, and Sara bowed her head slightly when he placed it on her. 

She’d become deaf temporarily, the applause thundering in the echoing stone halls, and Rinnion offered his hand, bringing her to her feet. “Fit for a queen, sissy,” he murmured with a grin. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she smiled, reining in the urge to hug him tightly before Thranduil gracefully stepped forward. “I now present to you, Princess Aranel Vanyalanthiriel, Daughter to King Rinnion of the Western Lands!” While he smiled to accommodate the situation, he allowed Sara and her father to embrace, the girl’s tears falling freely from her eyes. It was bittersweet, her mind instantly returning to the fact that she had to remain in Eryn Galen, for more reasons than her word to their host. With the crowning complete, the celebrations had begun, the people joyful as they toasted a new elven princess, comparing her to Lord Elrond because she was half. Sara had gone to isolate herself as much as possible, chest heaving from the oncoming panic attack. 

Too many faces, too many congratulations, too hot, too noisy, too… _too much._ She couldn’t breathe, the air was stifling, managing small smiles to those in passing and a polite curtsey or incline of her head, almost bolting from the gathering. No one noticed her departure, and a voice rang in her mind. _“There you are, my little pet. It’s been some time since last we spoke.”_ She didn’t recognize that voice, and she whirled to find no one around. She was in the courtyard. _“It won’t matter how often you spin, darling, you will not find me, for I am not there.”_

 _“Who are you?”_ The voice made a _‘tsk’_ sound within her mind, and she couldn’t place who it belonged to. It sounded ancient and rich, someone who possessed the utmost confidence in getting what they want by any means necessary. _“You don’t remember me, love? And after all that time we spent together… the things I did for you, for_ **_us_ ** _. You are a maiden again, and oh how I seek to reclaim that which is mine.”_ Dread rooted her to the spot, unable to see as darkness took over, ripping away her ability to cry for help. She didn’t see that Thranduil had found her. 

_“Sauron?!”_ The voice laughed within her head, wicked and cruel, and she shook as tears swam from her eyes. _“Very good, darling. Though I’m disappointed in you. You ran from me, from what we can accomplish together, and that just will not do. For you see, I_ **_will_ ** _find you, even if I have to burn all of Middle Earth to do so.”_ Her arm began to burn as if someone had cut her, deeply, and she could do no more than silently weep, collapsing against a pillar. Thranduil ran to her, seeing her eyes were closed but she was crying, terribly so, and he knew something had her. Neither Lord Elrond nor Lady Galadriel were near, the two still inside speaking with her father. Carefully, the woodland king brought her against him, his palm on her head and began to murmur in Elvish. _“Tell me where you are, my love. Spare those from my wrath and tell me.”_ She’d begun shaking her head, her arm to her chest as a light began to appear, cutting through the blinding darkness. Sauron was trying to charm her into telling him, but she couldn’t- she refused to give him what he wanted, knowing he’d kill everyone anyway and make her watch. 

_“Well, that certainly doesn’t help matters. Until next time, my love, my darling faerie. The time will come when I clip your wings so you may never leave.”_ The light burned everything dark away, and as she came to, Sara screamed, the sound ripping through the courtyard in a way Thranduil had only heard once before, and it rattled him more than he expected it to. It reminded him of… “Aranel, open your eyes.” But she wouldn’t, too frightened of what she might see. The woodland king noticed she clutched her arm and another scream rattled everything around them, searing his nerves. “Aranel!” Her face was against his chest, quaking horribly as if she were seizing, and softly, he began to murmur against her hair, drifting to her ear. _“Beri- nin gilgalad, beri- hen where im gar- baw rod plural rodyn. Nin gwilwileth, dilthen lend er.”_ Over and over, the phrase drifted to Sara’s ears, finally registering that someone was with her. Her screams ceased, her tears softening, and before her eyes opened, took in the most wonderful scents of clove, cinnamon, earth, incense, and something so inherently masculine, her breath caught, fingers twisting in robes of silk that was softer than butter, with suede, or something like it, and she unconsciously nuzzled to get closer, desperate for the safety she was embraced in.

 _“Nin ithildin...”_ Something wavered in the voice, she could have sworn it did, getting the sense of panic or pain, or both. Her breaths were calming when she opened her eyes, only realizing then who held her. “M-M-My King?” His pale gaze was on her arm, cradled between them, and Thranduil leaned back, taking her wrist. At first, he said nothing, but pulled the sleeve of her dress to her elbow and found an unholy symbol carved into her pale skin, blood trickling and staining her dress. Fear propelled her to sit, quaking while the woodland king held her wrist. “Aranel, you were trapped in some kind of dark magic, do you remember anything?” Confusion lit her features as she stared at the mark. “A-A voice,” she rasped, then cleared her throat. “I… I remember a voice… but-but no memories.” Thranduil brought her to stand and as he did, Lord Elrond and her father were running to her. “Lady Galadriel informed us something was wrong, that it was…” Lord Elrond had trailed off, seeing the mark carved into her arm, noting that she was still clutching part of the woodland king’s robes. 

“H-Help me…” Her voice had become a whisper, pleading to Thranduil. “Please help me, my King.” His features were pained, his pale eyes stormy and almost silver in the courtyard moonlight, and a grimness took over him. Sara released his robes, though she wanted nothing more to hide against him, to feel his arms around her again in some selfish attempt to get some kind of touch, but she knew better. “I will do all I can, Aranel. You have my word,” he looked between her father and Lord Elrond. “Inside. She needs this healed, and to tell me exactly what that voice said to you. I’m beginning to think my halls need to be closed. No one gets in, and no one leaves.” His eyes were on her then, and she saw her father’s jaw clench. Something was coming. No one spoke as she was led inside, discreetly, and taken to her chambers, with Lady Galadriel already inside. Instantly, the elven woman took the arm Sara had cradled to her chest, the mark garish against creamy skin. 

Elrond set to work on calling a guard to retrieve herbs and bandages, then shut the door once more, kneeling in front of her as she sat on the bed. Thranduil had moved to stand, and instinctively, she reached for him, but immediately withdrew her hand in a flinch. Confusion lit his features, and briefly Lord Elrond’s, but the others didn’t react. “S-Sorry,” she mumbled quietly. “I-I’m sorry, m-my King, I… I’m just… s-scared.” His response was an understanding expression. “There is no fault for that, Aranel, save for what happened to you. You’ve not insulted me in any way.” She took her father’s offered hand, clenching it tight in her own as the other two began to step around, looking over her for any other marks. “Can you tell us what happened, Princess?” Lord Elrond’s voice spoke in a hushed tone. A shaking breath left her as her father rubbed her hand. “Come on, sissy, what’s up?” With an audible swallow, she bit her lip, her gaze down, still embarrassed from trying to reach for Thranduil. “E-Everything… everything was… overwhelming me at-at the party, so… so I went to step outside, just to clear m-my head,” her voice had grown smaller, meek, the others watching her withdraw into herself. 

“I… I was in the courtyard and… and I heard a voice, a-a man’s voice, and… and he started talking to me.” Their expressions became severe, and it was her father that asked. “What was this voice saying to you?” Her breathing had hitched, panic welling in her eyes, the girl unable to stifle the whimper that escaped. “It’s all right, sissy, you’re safe here, remember?” She nodded quickly, swallowing several times. “At-at first, the… the voice said they were looking f-for me, but I… I didn’t know who it was. N-Not at first. He… he said he’s spoken to me before, but… I don’t remember…” Elrond nodded his head, straightening when the knock arrived on her door and took the herbs and bandages from the guard. “I… I even tried looking around, but… but he said I wouldn’t find him there- here- I…” A small groan stuck in her throat as the carving burned and throbbed, but she hardly noticed the pain then. They nodded for her to go on, and while some of the things said to her were personal, intimate, she knew anything left out could endanger them all.

“It… it was Sauron,” her shaking resumed, tears flooding her eyes as her tone broke. Even Thranduil became rigid as the rest, and they urged her to continue. “He said… he said we spent time together, that he… did things for me…” Nausea began to curdle in her stomach as her mouth started over-salivating, the girl on the brink of retching everywhere. “Did he say what kind of things, Aranel?” Lady Galadriel wondered, and she nodded hastily. “Gods… I feel so dirty…” she blurted it out, and the four around her had assumed the worst. “Sissy, tell me right now, did he touch you?” Her father’s tone was hardened, outraged, and even Thranduil looked sick as anger took over his gaze, pale blue turning white in hostility that left her frightened. “I-I don’t know,” her voice broke, hiding her face in her hands as Elrond began tearing the herbs apart. “He said… he said he made me a maiden again, th-that I was _his_ … h-he spoke to m-me as if… as if… he had feelings for me, and to… to tell him where I am and he’ll spare everyone, or… or if I didn’t, then everyone would die.” 

Elrond took her arm, methodically applying the torn herbs to her wound. The silence was deafening, and it frightened her more than the anger from the two kings. “I didn’t… I didn’t tell him. Th-that’s when he… cut me.” She wasn’t sure if it relieved Thranduil or not, his expression still angered, his jaw set. “Then we know one thing for certain,” Galadriel spoke then, eyes alight with knowledge. “The Greenwood hides her entirely from him. Not even his symbols can track her here.” While it should have been good news, Sara’s worried eyes fell on the woodland king. “If… if I need to leave to-to protect the people, then… then I will. I-I don’t want you to bear this burden, my King.” His eyes shot to hers, as if coming back to himself. “If what they say is true, that you strengthen my home and its enchantments, then I would assume leaving would make the Greenwood visible to Sauron and whoever follows his rule?” Galadriel nodded solemnly, and Thranduil turned his gaze to her and her livid father. “Forgive me, my friend, but knowing this, she is ordered to remain within my halls. Because she is best protected here.” 

The woodland king… just _ordered_ her not to leave. He strictly forbade it, and Sara’s father bristled, his fists clenched and twitching, ready to reach for his sword. “Dad, no!” Elrond had finished tending her wound, which had no longer hurt after murmuring quietly in ancient Elvish, and the princess snapped at her father to rein in his temper. “You heard them days ago- my magic strengthens this place, this land, I can’t go, and Sauron can’t find me here, let alone the forest itself because of me tied to it. Walking out there would mean I’d _die_!” He stilled, glaring at his daughter, the girl matching his glare with a heated, pleading one of her own. To most, King Rinnion was a frightening presence, but to Sara, that was her overprotective father, and he’d seen Thranduil’s arms around her. Rinnion growled lowly, then stalked from the room, and she sighed heavily. “Aranel, you knew your father before you came here, and I have not spoken with him for years before this. Will he seek to do something to make you leave?” 

Sara shook her head, as did Galadriel. “He knows she is right, Thranduil, that your order spares her life and her powers from Sauron, it is his pride that is damaged.”

“Then what will sway him?”

“He needs to get his head out of the clouds,” the princess sighed heavily once again, deflated. “But no, he won’t do anything- he won’t spark a battle in the middle of all this.” She waved her hand around. “The Feast is almost upon us, and… he needs to blow off some steam to cool down, but he knows already that your order is what is keeping me alive right now.” The woodland king drew his shoulders back, a careful eye on the door as his hand rested on his blade. While she knew his orders were absolute within his halls, that her magic only strengthened his will, the girl feared what her father would try to do- leave, most like, and try to force her hand. They knew their world best, she could only hope her father would see reason. She stood, collecting herself and rolled her head, shoulders drawing back as she made for the door. Thranduil blocked her exit.

“My King… I have to do this,” she spoke softly, head lowered. “I have to make sure he sees reason.” 

“You would reason with an elf that knows battle better than anything else?” 

“Yes, because he’s my father,” her eyes rose to meet his, searching his pale gaze. “You’re only doing what you have to, I know that. All of us know that, but… he’s only being this way because he’s thinking as a father, not as a king. His people will suffer if I go, so I need to make sure he knows that I must stay… I believe my departure would only leave my trace behind and I can’t… I _won’t_ , do that to anyone else.” While both Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond agreed with her, the woodland king before her quirked his eyebrow, jaw hardened. “I thought my father was dead before this,” she repeated. “While he’s alive, that doesn’t change the oath I made. If I am tied to your lands and their strength, then here is where I stay. May I please go speak with him?” 

Something shifted within Thranduil, visibly, and his gaze became friendlier, no longer suspicious. “Even against your own father, your loyalty to your word is unshakable. It goes beyond admirable, Aranel, but I cannot help wondering as to what it is specifically that ties you to your word, and not your blood.” A glimmer of defeat rose in her eyes, a heavy breath escaping. “When you think someone is dead for years, you have to rely on yourself. My father has never betrayed me, but those I tried to call family have always found a way. I was only convenient for people to use, and it made me cold, but… while he’s my father, he has to remember this is the only way.” He stepped aside, a guard waiting to escort her. “I can-” 

“It isn’t for you,” Thranduil spoke sternly, and then she knew- the guard was meant to prevent her father from taking her anyway. Her lips parted, speechless, but she closed her mouth and picked her head up, her crown gleaming in the lights of his hall. She’d stood up to a king, one she’d fallen in love with but kept secret, and she hoped he wasn’t angry with her. “See to it she returns to the party after speaking with her father, and find out what is taking Mithrandir so long to return.”

“Yes, my king!” Each step Sara took toward her father’s chambers was shakier than the last, her hands trembling as she tried to remember to control her breaths. Inside, she could hear him flinging things around. Things that sounded like clothing. She knocked, hearing her father snap through and flinched. “What?!” Her eyes lowered and she hurriedly entered his room before she lost her nerve. “I don’t wanna hear it, sissy.” 

“No, dad you _need_ to,” she replied, her voice wavering. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but… but you heard what they said a couple days ago! This forest, my faerie blood is somehow tied to it, and the area camouflages me. If I leave…” 

“You’ll be safer with me,” he insisted, and her eyes stung. “N-No, dad. You’re thinking as a father, not as a king. You have thousands of people under your rule and I would endanger them all with my arrival, as well as leaving the Greenwood with traces that I’d been here.”

“You think I care about everyone else?! You’re my daughter, it’s been a hundred goddamned years and you’re choosing to stay in a place because they ‘say’ it keeps you hidden!” 

“But dad, Sauron said-” 

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone said! You’re coming with me, and that’s final.” 

She retreated, taking a step toward the door. “N-No, I’m not.” Rinnion stilled, the anger rising within the room and she shook, tears slipping down her cheeks. “What did you say to me?” His voice was eerily level, almost calm. “I said… I said I’m staying here.” Her voice cracked, worriedly watching his movements when he approached. The guard with her began to withdraw a sword, and her father glared furiously into her frightened eyes. “I know what this is- you wanna be with a man that doesn’t look at you any more than he would a servant. It’s got nothin’ to do with power.” Sara shook her head, her heart twisting as it began to break. “N-No… I’m s-staying so people don’t die because of me.” Something shattered beside her, one of the dressers, as her father had buried his fist into it. “Remember you said that.” He took a few steps back, resuming his packing. As if the air had left the room, Sara wavered, almost collapsing, her tears still falling. “Wh-where are you going? What do you mean?”

“It means, I’m getting my ass home where people fuckin listen to me, and you made your fucking bed, you lie in it!” He wouldn’t speak to her anymore, and she knew then she needed to leave. 

The guard was ushering her to move as fast as she could in her dress, protecting her from the rage of King Rinnion, her own father, and the two had bolted past King Thranduil, the guard meeting his gaze. “Your Highness, I’m taking her to a less crowded space-” But the woodland king saw her tears, assuming her father had succeeded in making her break her promise. “Hold!” Sara froze, shoulders shaking and hid behind the guard, sniffing and a hiccup escaped. “Would I be correct in assuming your father was successful in his task? That you are attempting to flee?” He strode to them, moving his guard aside, his gaze harsh and scrutinizing between the two. As the princess shook her head, it was the one escorting her to offer his word. “No, my king. The Princess was successful, but… His Majesty Rinnion was outraged.” Thranduil no longer seemed cold and cruel, but confused, concern lighting his pale blue eyes. “What do you mean, outraged? Does he seek war?” Sara shook her head again, her face hidden as she stifled her cries. “No, my lord,” the guard responded immediately. 

“The princess was adamant on fulfilling her promise when the King Rinnion became violent.” Sara’s shaking grew, unable to speak or meet Thranduil’s eye. “Did he strike her?” 

“Not at all, my lord, though he made a quick approach and I drew my blade to protect her. The dresser in his chambers has been destroyed, however, and he left insult to the princess before we departed.” 

“On what course did he insult his own child? What was the nature of these insults?” Sara bit her lip, taking a step back from the king, her face filled with shame. The guard cast a concerned glance, then met the woodland king’s eye once more. “My lord, the King Rinnion, he…” the guard cleared his throat. “He believed his daughter’s insistence to stay was a selfish matter of the heart, not believing her when the truth was spoken only days ago. He seemed to think she was in love with someone to prevent her from leaving.” The concern remained in Thranduil’s eyes, but he looked over her hurriedly. In love with someone? She never became friendly with too many, their treatment of her callous at best, but… she shared a bond with Legolas.

The guard had been banished before her crowning, though the woodland king wondered if her eyes were turned on someone close to her station after all. “He was well aware of his daughter’s bond before we discovered the link she has with my lands and just before Sauron established immediate contact, unable to find her. Surely she explained such matters?” Once again, the guard bowed. “Yes, my lord, the princess explained it all, yet he bore no inclination of taking her word as truth.” Her cries were audible then, shaking, soft, but still, Thranduil heard the way they wrenched through her and placed a hand on her arm. Sara flinched back violently, fear in her eyes, immediately replaced by regret and finally allowed the woodland king to escort her from the eyes of others. “I… I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m sorry, my King. I didn’t mean to set you and my father at odds, but… I-I made a promise-” 

“Aranel, your father is a prideful king, but he is still your father. You stood strong-” 

“But-” 

“You think tears are any indication of a lack of personal strength and resolve? You stood strong in your oath, despite him being a king and your father. There isn’t much that is commended more.”

It had grown silent around them, and she heard fire crackling, lifting her head to find they were in his chambers. Confusion knit her brow together and her heart raced. Why did he bring her to his room? Noticing her bewilderment, he chuckled, pouring himself some wine before offering a chalice to her. “This is possibly one of the most private places within my halls, save for a few that hide themselves away. This gives you a chance to recollect yourself before we return to the party.” Her small hand shook upon taking the chalice, and she sniffed, nearly hugging the cup before taking a sip. “Won’t they… won’t they notice my father being gone?” He inclined his head, gesturing around the room as he spoke. “I doubt any of our guests have any sobriety left to take note of who comes or goes at the moment. You will be fine for the evening.” She took another drink, disheartened slightly about returning to the gathering. As she stared around his room, taking in the beautiful structure, the king observed how her silent awe conflicted with her ache.

“You made the right choice, Aranel.” When her hazel turned to him, he could see the small spark of hope, and she bit her lip. “I… I think I did too, but…”

“You didn’t betray him,” he spoke, matter-of-fact. “He knew of your bond before anything else, and upon being told of the danger you’re in, he acted as any father would. Sometimes, however, a father can’t fight their childrens’ battles, no matter how hard they may try.” Her breath shook, but she didn’t contest him, silently drinking the wine he offered. “Wishing never makes things easier…” He knew the remark was more of a reminder to herself, but he was struck by the pain in her honesty. That familiar, yet differing sort of ache. “It does not,” Thranduil agreed. “But I’m pleased it did not dissuade you from your course.” Sara offered what she could of a small smile. “Thank you, my King.” She finished her wine, her tears dry. “We should… probably go back. Y-You said we should get back to the party once I get ahold of myself. I… I think I’m ready, my lord.” His own chalice was finished, perfect timing it seemed, and the king inclined his head, gesturing for her to follow. 

“Uhm…” It had been bothering her since she’d found out about her blood being tied to his lands, but he was the king, she needed to know. When Thranduil’s pale, inquisitive gaze fell on her, Sara’s fingers twisted in front of her. “What is it?”

“I didn’t get to thank you for… for earlier. For… pulling me out of the hold I was in, but… there’s something I wanted to ask you.” He paused at the door, waiting for her to continue. “Since I… Since I gave my word on… on staying to… to help the Greenwood, does… does that mean this place is my home?” He was perplexed, tilting his head as her timid eyes met his own. “Was it not before you were aware of your father being alive?” Her face colored, and she shuffled awkwardly, the sight oddly endearing to the woodland king. “If you considered my lands your home before finding your father, you can still think of them as home now. You have a few ties to it already.” Yet it wasn’t solely his land that she was tied to, regardless of her heart. Her magic strengthened his own, fortifying the will that permeated the enchantments, making his halls, his kingdom, impenetrable by anyone not permitted by Thranduil himself. 

Sara curtsied, head low and returned to the party, not once seeing her father in the crowd or through the halls. Yet as her mind drifted toward the party, dreading any potential dancing, her host’s mind lingered on her question. She would have to think of it as her home, regardless of her father or not. She was forbidden from leaving, not when Mithrandir and Lady Galadriel both remarked she breathed life into his forests, that she fortified the magic and strength within it, there was no possible way the Elvenking would let her just leave. She saw he was right, however, most of those in attendance were drunk to the point they couldn’t make heads or tails of anything, earning quiet laughter from her. Upon seeing her, however, the guests would bow, then toast to her good health, even offering her a drink. She politely shook her head, shyly admitting her tolerance wasn’t the best, with each guest smiling still before they drifted along their own way. Though inebriated, they were happy, and dancing with one another. Dancing. She never got to have the dance with her father, not with how much of a coward she was at gatherings, bolting during her panic attack. 

As a guest at Thranduil’s table, he saw her eyes become misty as she watched everyone, twisting her fingers with shaking breaths. He knew she was thinking about not being able to dance with her father. A few nobles approached her, asking for a dance, and when her hazel met his pale blue, he would turn his gaze away. _“You have not danced with your father, nor a member of this house. You remember what I taught you.”_ She swallowed, blinking a few times in surprise. _“Yes, my King, and… this is… this fine. Really, I…”_

 _“My instruction will not be wasted, Aranel. Come.”_ Her breath caught as he stood, the way he towered over her before offering his hand. Regal and intimidating, her brain fried briefly before slipping her fingers into his awaiting ones, feeling his warmth curl around them as he led her to the center of the floor. There were so many people… Her breath quickened, another panic attack at the brink when he murmured lowly. “Focus on me, Aranel. Pay them no mind.” 

His hand lay softly against the small of her back, bringing her close as her own went to his shoulder, and he heard her whimper. “You have nothing to fear,” he murmured, feeling her small hand tighten in his larger one. “You know the steps, you’ve exceeded thus far, act as though it is another lesson and you’ll surpass them all.” Sara’s breath shook, but her hazel eyes remained on his beautiful icy blue, trying to forget the scene around them when the crowd drew silent. Their king was dancing. He hadn’t in… not since his wife. Of course, they also believed he was simply being kind to the girl, but conflict rose then. He was never outright kind unless there was some meaning behind it. Did that mean His Majesty…? Thranduil wouldn’t entertain the notion, prompting the princess to keep her focus on him. “Don’t look away from me, Aranel. And remember to keep your head high. A lovely princess from the Western Lands is dancing with her host, she should be acting like it.” 

He complimented her again. He’d called her lovely. Sara’s face colored, feeling his breath against her as she let him control their movement, nodding with wide eyes. _It’s just so you can continue on being a proper princess_ , her inner voice hissed. Yet she remained unable to listen, silent as Thranduil glided effortlessly around the hall with her. She couldn’t even hear the whispering. When the music had finished, she curtsied, low as she would usually be, her head lowered in respect and the applause rang through the halls. She stood, straightening, and the woodland king seemed inherently satisfied. “You need more confidence in yourself,” he murmured. “Listen to them.” The princess gazed around, noting that those in attendance, while completely drunk, were furiously applauding her dance with the king still. “That’s only because you taught me, my lord, otherwise they would have been laughing.” He quirked his eyebrow, then gave her a small bow, bringing her fingers to his lips for the dance. “Even so, you still moved effortlessly.”

She followed to the table, noting that after they’d danced, everyone had returned to the same activities- more drinking and more dancing. Her thoughts, meanwhile, had returned to her father, hands clenching several times to will any other thought to surge. Well, almost anything- she couldn’t bear the other thoughts that circled her brain, unconsciously holding her arm that Lord Elrond had healed. Finally, when the guests began to dissipate, Sara saw her chance to leave. Thranduil was speaking with a few of them, distracted and still drinking, and she maneuvered around the crowd back to her chambers. With everyone gone, it felt hollow, the sensation boring into her and making it difficult to breathe. She changed, ignoring the tears that threatened to fall, and crawled under the sheets, willing the world to disappear. Her father was angry with her, had left her and even insinuated she was staying solely for Thranduil when she wasn’t. That wasn’t the sole reason- the big portion was to protect others. She already knew the woodland king would never see her as anything more than a shield for his lands- he was still grieving, it was wrong to wish for anything. Her promise remained, yet despite everything warring within her, she finally wept, clutching her pillow and drifted into a fitful slumber.

Sara remained unaware that when the king noticed her absence, he immediately sent guards to search for her, to ensure she didn’t try to run and catch up to her father, to go back on her word. They found her, fast asleep in her chambers, her cheeks wet, but delivered the news. “She remains, my lord,” one of the guards bowed upon the elvenking’s passing in the halls. “She has retired for the night. I would assume she was still upset at the abrupt departure of her father. Though she composed herself rather well.” Thranduil had entered her room, finding she was as the guard said, fast asleep, her cheeks drying from the tears she had shed. Perhaps… he could show her a little more kindness- the girl had refuted her own father in order to keep her promise, behaved with more honor than most, and yet she acted as though she’d been shunned. The woodland king pulled the blanket over her a little more, up to her shoulders, then whispered as she slept. “Your efforts were not in vain, Aranel. You’ve done no harm.” His response earned a sleeping sigh, her face rubbing into the pillow.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come to remove one of the symbols from Sara's mind, but it isn't without repercussions. A memory returns to her, but that isn't what plagues the faerie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried uploading this chapter from my phone and realized a lot of things that needed italicized (telepathic conversations and the like), even with the Rich Text option, would not italicize my work without having to go back and do it myself. Also going on lack of sleep, so, as I write this, I will be going back through this story and making a lot of amends and potential additions.

Mithrandir returned before the feast, though only barely, as though he were distracted by something else entirely that wasn’t involving anyone within the woodland realm. Sara had become visibly withdrawn until then, studying furiously or practicing her training, trying to stifle the urge to find out if her dad was all right. The soldiers had taken notice, everyone had, even Thranduil himself. She was shouldering a burden she shouldn’t have been, yet beyond Legolas, Lady Galadriel, and Gandalf himself, no one knew the faerie was also staving off her ache, broken-hearted for another reason altogether. She trained with Tauriel and Legolas both, throwing herself into each session with the hope that she could work past it all. From the symbols creating a barrier against her memories, to the woodland king and her feelings for him, it was only days, but she buried everything save for her training. 

“You’re looking well, all things considering,” Gandalf was looking over her, the two walking through the great halls. “Though most are skilled at concealment. How are you feeling these last few days?” Sara sighed, heavily, turning her pained gaze up to the wizard. “Like everything’s imploding,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest. “With my dad being gone, I can’t… I can’t even  _ think  _ straight, and I’m so afraid I’ll say or do something stupid and I just-” she huffed, gesturing her hands in front of her. Gandalf chuckled, leaning on his staff. “Thranduil’s told me the tale of how you stood up against your father. He thinks you behaved admirably, which is a surprise. He only ever thinks that of his son, and even that is hard to come by.” Sara could barely stifle the smile that threatened to spread. King Thranduil offered another compliment? “You’ve been avoiding contact with everyone I’m told,” the wizard was awful chatty, but she felt like she hadn’t had a good conversation in ages. “I… m-maybe a little… No one else needs to bear this but me. His Majesty is already taking a risk, I can’t ask him to-”

“And you haven’t, but you shouldn’t be shouldering these things alone. Not with Sauron possessing a link with your mind. It is difficult to say what he might do.” She swallowed, a heavy breath leaving her. “When… when will we be able to start taking the barriers down? The less chance I have of Sauron finding me, the better I can protect this place.” The old wizard hummed, his step strong despite his age, and the two had attracted the elvenking’s attention in their passing. “I believe, perhaps, in the times to come. There is much at stake, and we do not know what Sauron might do with complete access to you. He is already siphoning your abilities, whatever those may be- ah! Thranduil!” Sara stilled, chewing her lip and avoided the king’s eye, believing it better not to look in those beautiful eyes lest she lose her heart again. “Mithrandir, it has taken you some time to return. It wouldn’t have to deal with those dwarven friends of yours, would it?”

“I… I’ll go…” 

“Aranel, hold. This pertains to you.” While her head was tucked down, she couldn’t refuse an order from the king, and stayed where she was, knowing part of the conversation was pertaining to Thorin Oakenshield and his company. When would they arrive? “They will seek entrance to that mountain, no matter what may hinder them, Thranduil. And you know as well as I that Thorin’s pride forbids him from seeking help- especially from elvenkind.” 

“Then he is more stubborn and greedy than even his grandfather,” Thranduil replied confidently. “I still seek to reclaim that which is mine.” The faerie swallowed, timidly stepping backward from them. She knew what the king was after, those white gems for his late wife. She knew what was coming, but could do nothing to stop it. Maybe… her hand clenched behind her back, determined. Maybe if she got those gems for Thranduil herself, he would be happy. If not with her, then… she had to try. Gandalf’s eye fell on her, and she felt the conversation dwindle, barely moving her gaze upward.  _ “I would not attempt such a thing, Aranel. Seeking those gems will only lead to more strife for everyone.”  _ Gandalf had spoken in her mind, and she chewed her lip again.  _ “I have to try, Gandalf. I know I can never have my heart’s wish, so… so maybe I can at least bring some kind of happiness to him…”  _

_ “Unconditional love.”  _ She could have choked, but the wizard had covered easily enough, fumbling with his robes. “And you will have them when the time is right, Thranduil. Now, where was…” 

Sara’s eyebrows knit together, confused, tilting her head softly. What was he looking for? Before she could open her mouth, the wizard had retrieved a delicate chain from his person, something with… a necklace. It was a thin chain, sparkling under the light in the woodland king’s halls, but the pendant… it glimmered like nothing she had ever seen, more beautiful than diamonds, and it was dwarven made. Thranduil stilled, ice blue eyes burning as Gandalf passed the necklace to Sara. “This was a gift from your father. His guard had found a dwarven merchant, and he’d meant to give it to you at the feast, but with what’s happened…” 

“Dad…?” She timidly stepped closer, offering a trembling hand to take the necklace. The pendant itself looked to be a shining star, the gems within reflecting and making it sparkle as one. She’d lost the air in her lungs, tears filling her eyes. “H-He… he’s not mad at me?” Gandalf chuckled, but it was obvious Thranduil’s mind was elsewhere, and for the first time, Sara saw jealousy. That’s when she knew what the gems were.

“But… but how? They’re… I’m not supposed to have this.” 

“Let me start by saying that your father isn’t mad at you, but himself. He feels as though he’s failed in his job as a parent to protect his child. This was meant to be yours after your crowning.” She swallowed, thickly, her small fingers curling around the star and hugged it to her chest. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, looking over it again wistfully. “‘Though your fate is tied here, you are still the western star’. Your father wanted you to know that.” Finally, tears slipped from her eyes, carefully avoiding Thranduil’s. She knew then something she could do, but it would have to wait until after she’d spoken to Gandalf, out of sight. Sara wrapped the necklace carefully, placing it in what constituted as a purse, a small pouch she’d made herself to carry things she would need. “I believe we can begin preparations to start removing the barrier soon, though I imagine a feast is coming?” The elvenking had more of a fierce determination in his eye then, his nod curt and short. “As soon as possible. Will it just be you, Mithrandir, that removes them from her mind?”

“Not solely myself, but the Lady Galadriel wishes to provide her aid as well. She believes with the barriers gone, that despite not finding her here, that Aranel will be able to better conceal the Greenwood from the forces that seek to claim it.” Sara perked up slightly, hands clasped in front of her. “Does… does that mean I can find out what else I can do?” 

“Only once each barrier has been taken from your mind, but yes. Though I will warn you- each one that is removed will allow some memory to return, and they may not be pleasant.” The girl’s face was stony, but she inclined her head. “I understand, I’ll do whatever I need to.” She was excused then, and she hurriedly went to her chambers, looking over the gorgeous necklace her father had given her. As she admired it, she was reminded of the heated want she saw in Thranduil’s gaze- he wanted the gems in the mountain, he’d been after them for over sixty years. Chewing her lip again, she peeked from her chambers and found no one around, save for the guard usually stationed by her room, then tiptoed out and immediately crept to the king’s, necklace in hand. Faintly, she could hear him speaking with Gandalf, in some other place, but knew she needed to move. 

Sara went to his desk, the wrapped necklace tight in her hand and sighed as she looked over it longingly one last time. Thranduil needed it more than she did, it was only right. Opening one of the drawers, she ignored everything inside and placed the wrapped trinket within, softly closing it and left his chambers. Maybe the little surprise would make him happy. She hoped it would. Even if nothing came of her foolishly wishing to love him, to have him love her, she could at least grant him something to ease his broken heart. That was all she wanted, for Thranduil to be at ease, at the very least. There was no bounce in her step at her clever little hiding spot, only the ache that came as she felt his pain, almost as strong as if it were her own. Worried thoughts circulated her mind then: what if he wasn’t happy with her gesture? What if it made him angry, or hurt him more? What did it even mean to give an elf jewelry in Middle Earth? She knew the significance of rings, but what about a necklace? She bolted to the library, hoping she could find the answer.

As she searched, she noted no one was in the library with her. The guards who had seen her assumed she was working on translating more things to better understand and gave her the space she needed. Thank the gods… Sara found a tome, entirely in Elvish, then began taking her current translations and found it was the customs regarding many cultures, Elven, Dwarven, Human, even a little was added about Hobbits. While it relieved her to find the book, the more she translated, the more her anxiety rose.  _ ‘In regard to Elves and jewelry, one must be sure that he or she is true in their intentions, as the giving of a necklace symbolizes the love the giver has for the recipient. A ring…’  _ She stopped reading and stumbled to the floor, heart slamming furiously. The moment Thranduil sees that necklace, he’s going to think she gave it to him because of her love for him! While it was true, that wasn’t the idea she had in mind- she just wanted to be nice, to make him happy!  _ I just told on myself. Fuck my life!  _

She had never been told the customs of giving elves jewelry since her arrival- not once, and because of her ignorance, it would look like she’d just pledged her love to the king, knowing he was grieving. Sara scrambled to get up, running to grab parchment and a quill, to leave a letter explaining everything. How would she even begin? With a heavy, shuddering breath, she began to pace, unable to think. He was going to be so angry… He was going to banish her. Maybe it would be better to grab the necklace and just hide it away. He wouldn’t have to see the gems he sought for his wife, she could convince Bilbo or get them herself. But… wouldn’t that also be a declaration of love? Sara shook her head. No, no, it would just be making sure the king got what he was promised, that’s all! As much as she tried convincing herself otherwise, she knew that most would see it as a proclamation that she was in love with him. While it was true, she couldn’t risk him hating her. She was already in too much pain to begin with, knowing he could never feel for her what she felt for him. 

So lost in thought, the girl never processed her return to the king’s chambers and retrieved the necklace, tucking it back in her pouch and went to her own room, hiding the trinket. Her features remained scarlet as she, too, hid from view.  _ I almost confessed my love for him and had no goddamned clue. Why is it so complicated to do anything nice around here? Fuck me! Ugh! _ Her head was a mess, knowing she loved him but keeping it secret as to not provoke his wrath, or worse… disgust. She knew already what was said about her- no self-respecting Sindarin would dare mix with a half-breed. She was the equivalent of trash, didn’t matter if she was a princess. She had been told by several servants before her status was revealed that she was less than nothing, and believed that Thranduil was of the same mind.  _ I love him… I love him and it hurts and I almost got myself in deep fucking trouble. GodDAMNIT.  _ Sara groaned, rubbing her eyes as she left her chambers, ready to train more. 

Hand to hand combat always made her feel better, and thankfully, there was at least always one person around to give her guidance and help. Still a novice, she insisted on working herself to the limit, breaking a small sweat when Gandalf, Lady Galadriel, and Thranduil called for her to stop. “We can pick this up when you’re finished, princess,” the guard bowed respectfully, and she inclined her head, fixing her hair as she approached the three. “Is it… is it time?” Lady Galadriel nodded, and just behind them was Lord Elrond. A pit settled in her stomach. He was quite gifted at healing… which meant if he had shown up… Her eyes were to the floor as she was led to her chambers, Gandalf guiding her to sit at the edge of the bed. “We will remove each barrier on a different day,” he instructed, earning her nod. “As removing them all at once will likely kill you.”  _ Why am I not surprised?  _ She exhaled heavily, steeling herself. “Whatever I need to do, then… let’s do it. I need to find out how I got here and… well, what Sauron’s been taking from me.” 

Thranduil had remained at the edge of her room, watching as they guided Sara to lay down, her head on Galadriel’s lap. The elven woman pressed her fingers to the girl’s temples, staring down at her with compassion. “We will see everything you see,” she spoke softly, and it gave the faerie some sense of comfort, and she nodded with another shaky breath. “O-Okay…” Galadriel closed her eyes, murmuring in an ancient tongue, and Gandalf joined, his own tone low and matching rhythm with hers. Lord Elrond had taken Sara’s hand, patting it with a soft, reassuring smile. “Close your eyes, princess, and remember we are here. Whatever you see will only be a memory, it won’t hurt you.” A small whimper escaped as she searched Elrond’s features, then her hazel briefly fell on the elvenking, who watched curiously still. She didn’t see nor sense the conflict within him. Her eyes fluttered, closing, and the murmuring grew as Elrond had joined. 

Flashes at first, rapid scenes passing one after another had begun to show themselves, recalling her memories in Middle Earth when Gandalf spread his arms, displaying what could be seen in her mind. Everyone except for Sara had their eyes open, watching as she walked with Lady Galadriel to one of the symbols. Things were distorted, she could make sense of how many there were… it hurt to focus.  _ “Once the first is removed, the others should be in better focus and easier to discern.”  _

_ “O-Okay…”  _ Even in her unconscious state, the girl’s voice was timid, worried, small. The one they had chosen to focus on looked to be a rather crudely shaped eye made by sticks. _Bones._ She felt lady Galadriel’s touch against the symbol and inhaled sharply as the others watched. The symbol became alight, no longer the shade of blood, but of fire, burning within her. Sara whimpered, face contorting painfully.  _ “This will pass, Aranel. Stay strong.”  _ She swallowed, clutching Elrond’s hand tight in her own. The scene, the symbol, began to distort, thrumming and vibrating as Galadriel pushed against it. 

The symbol cracked, earning a hiss from the small girl, who had begun shifting as she lay prone. As it cracked, it threatened to spread, the color illuminated to a more ominous burning of white, drawing whimpers from her.  _ “It… it hurts… it’s burning me. Make it stop, please make it stop…”  _ Thranduil remained watchful, concerned, but her cries within the memory twisted something within him, however minimal. She tightened her hold on Elrond and Galadriel pushed harder, a piece of the symbol breaking and instantly vanished. As it broke, her cries pushed through, her body twitching. Another piece broke off, a smaller one, and Sara’s tears began to fall in the waking world, her cries audibly growing.  _ “Please… please just get it out- take this away, please! I can’t-”  _ Galadriel broke another piece off and she screamed, the symbol shifting from blood red to a fierce, burning orange. Back and forth, over and over again, and her body had escalated from twitching to jerking.

More pieces chipped away, leaving a wound in its wake as it sought to hold within her, and the girl almost thrashed, unable to wake, her screams permeating the waking world and reverberated within all of them. Pure, unfiltered anguish that set their nerves aflame, and they hadn’t finished removing the symbol. Only fragments remained, the Lady Galadriel focused as ever despite Sara’s frantic cries and jerks. The more the Lady broke away, the more agony it caused, and the girl couldn’t control her screams. “Somebody, please make it stop!  _ PLEASE _ !” Finally, the last piece broke free, dissipating entirely, leaving Sara broken and sobbing, still within the vision. Finally, what they’d needed to see- the world displayed to them was like nothing they’d ever encountered. Devices that held light, but served some sort of function, and the faerie had a human’s ears as she worked on tapping at something.  _ “No one will be aware of your presence, you are watching from an outside perspective.”  _

“No, seriously,” Sara- the human Sara- was talking against a small device, a smile on her face. “If I got the chance to bolt from here and go on my own adventure, I’m taking it. I can only write so much-” 

“Yeah, but you have a vivid imagination!” They heard another girl speaking, but unable to see her. Sara’s breath hitched, watching the scene. It felt too weird to watch herself.  _ “...Tanna…”  _ She swallowed, more tears falling. “Too vivid sometimes, ha! I’m in love with characters, because only in books and movies are men possessing of a damn brain. Gimme a minute, I’m gonna make some cocoa!” 

“Okay, moonlight!” 

“Ohhh, stahp!” The scene shifted, and Thranduil found himself curious of more than just how she arrived- he wondered why the unseen person had called her Moonlight, why she blushed as she did, noting that she had told him the truth. Her world was vastly more different than he could believe. But yet… she had no lover, and where was that friend of hers? 

Sara stood in a small room, holding an oddly shaped cup and was humming to herself, bouncing from one foot to the other along with the tune when something snapped. “What the…” Voices could be heard, but the human version of her appeared confused- confused and scared. Thranduil, Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf all knew the speech. Black Speech, orcish. “The Master says this is the girl- the one who can wield magic in a realm without it.” All of them, save for Sara, shared a look with one another- a girl that could use magic, actual magic, but her world had none. The human Sara had peeked around the corner, holding a kitchen knife in one hand, her nose in the other as she gagged. Two large orcs had thumped into her hallway, and she became frozen, rigid with fear and panic. Her door was behind her- how did they- “Oh, I hope you’re a fighter,” one of the orcs spat, smiling with its rotten, razor-sharp fangs. It lunged at her and she screamed, while in the waking world, she jerked and whimpered. 

Cornered, the thing saw her knife and laughed, ripping it from her hand and jerked her head back. Hazel eyes were filled with tears, fear swimming brightly as she stared at the thing. “Wh-what are you?” Another mocking, growling laugh filled the air. The other orc was trashing her home and rifling through her things. Sara kicked out, the thing hit her, rendering her unconscious. “Let’s go, the gate won’t be open long.” The orc threw her over its shoulder, footfalls thudding as the other followed to a black, swirling vortex, the two stepping through and found themselves in a fortress. Dol Guldur. Neither heard her friend crying for her, to see if she was okay. In Middle Earth, Sara’s appearance changed only slightly, her ears pointed and her wings protruding from her back. They took her underground, chaining her in a putrid cell that possessed iron shackles. As her skin burned, waking her, she screamed, tearing at the clasps to no avail, sobbing before what she assumed was a guard banged on the bars, barking for her to shut up. 

As it did so, dark whispering was heard, silencing the orc only after it had apologized profusely. With a whimper, Sara tried to see who had arrived, her wings closed. A foolish hope arose that it was someone to rescue her, and she sniffed, hazel eyes scouring the cell. No one was there, but the whispering continued, and as she drew in on herself, she began to see a black mass, the size of a tall, broad man, coming toward her. She cowered, shivering, then her shackles were gone, replaced by the shadow man’s hands who had then healed her. “Wh-Who are you?” Her voice broke, and insidious laughter filled her ears. “I’ve been watching you for some time, girl,” it spoke as if it were death itself, and she began to squirm when it held her in place. “It’s fortunate that they found you this time instead of another meager human. The others didn’t survive the trip. But, oh… you’re not human anymore, and the longer you’re here, the less your human blood will be.” Panic she’d never known rose within her and she jerked against the thing, shaking her head. “Who  _ are  _ you?  _ What  _ are you?” She demanded. Her insistence was met by a strike against her face, the mass getting taller as if someone had stood. “You may call me Master, for I am the Necromancer.” 

Sara coughed and sputtered, rolling on her side as tears furiously swam from her eyes, the vision done and gone. Lady Galadriel was out of sorts, and as Gandalf tended to her, Lord Elrond began tending to Sara. Thranduil’s eyes were disbelieving, looking over her as if seeing her for the first time. “You were human before.” She meekly met eyes of pale blue and nodded, whimpering. “Y-Yes, my King.” 

“She came through a gateway,” Gandalf interjected, patting down Lady Galadriel’s face with his fingerless gloves. “The Necromancer opened a gateway, splitting into her world, and brought her here. She was changed, no longer a full human to what we see now.” 

“And the longer she stays within our realm,” Lord Elrond continued. “The less human she will be.” Sara shivered, tucking her head down and avoided their stares, wrapping her arms around herself. “But we don’t know if the gateway is still there, or why she was brought here-” 

“Removing another symbol in this moment would kill them both, but we saw she did not leave her world willingly, that is a good sign. She wasn’t under any spell when she woke in Dol Guldur either.” 

Elrond and Gandalf had been discussing it all, and Sara hiccupped, getting to her feet and wavered. She needed air. But as she tried to move, she was stilled by the elvenking. “You’re in no condition to go wandering around,” he spoke firmly, and she knew an order was coming. “Lay down, Aranel. Now.” Her breath caught, dizzy, but did as she was told. “That means she’s been here for some time before she lost her memories,” Elrond commented, but it was Thranduil who brought her water and placed a damp cloth over her forehead. They were right- she had to have been in Middle Earth for some time, not just running from the orcs. Taken from her home, kept in a dungeon, but for how long? As Sara tried to recall when the conversation took place, she winced, a sharp cry leaving her. “Take it slowly,” Elrond put his fingers against her cheek, searching for fever, finding nothing unusual. “Trying to remember anything now after such a task will only exhaust you further-”

His voice faded away entirely, and though her eyes were open, she only saw darkness. Sara heard an angry, growling roar, jerking in the bed.  _ “You’ve sought help, you crafty little bitch! I will find you! You cannot hide forever, you will soon show yourself!”  _ She yelped, but the girl was frozen, and each of the four in her room could see she was held firm. The voice… Sauron’s tone was angrier than before, and she could hear him snarling.  _ “Do not think for an instant that because I cannot sense nor track you that I have run out of options, ‘darling’. I still have access to your magic!”  _ Something akin to claws ran down the front of her chest, splitting her clothing like melted butter, tearing her skin to ribbons and she screamed, choking as blood splashed in her mouth. Elrond had taken hold of her, but she couldn’t see nor feel his touch, the same with Gandalf. Not even the weakened Lady Galadriel could stop Sauron’s attack. “Fetch a healer this instant!” 

“ _ No _ .” 

Thranduil’s harsh order had stunned them into silence, but not so much as his actions. As she cried, unable to scream from the blood in her mouth, he sat on the bed, taking her in his arms and began to murmur against her temple in ancient Elvish. She could see a light, the brightness staving the pain, stopping the attack entirely and Sauron roared in her head. Elrond had taken to his healing as Thranduil continued to murmur the same as last time, urging her to be protected, for her mind to close itself off. Her choked screams abated, her cries soft, and her face turned to the light, once again, smelling the familiar scents of autumn with masculinity that kept her so safe before. Thranduil. She remembered his scent the last time he held her, and when they danced. He was the living, ethereal embodiment of the seasons, The Great Elvenking. Her fingers twisted in his robes as he continued to murmur, cradling her head against his heart. She could hear his heartbeat… It struck her as a beautiful melody, soothing her cries to stopping and she opened her eyes, noting he and Elrond were saving her life. “M-My King…” She rasped, and tilted her head to meet his eyes. 

“Don’t speak,” he urged quietly. “Save your strength, Aranel.” Sara managed a soft nod, closing her eyes and passed out against him, her breathing shallow. He stilled, fingertips to her throat. She still had a pulse, her breathing was still there, just weak. “She’ll live,” Elrond assured, earning relief from them all. “But she will be in bed for at least a week.” 

“We angered him when we removed that symbol,” Gandalf spoke quietly as Sara slept against the elvenking, who seemed to have taken to cleaning the blood from around her mouth. “We angered him and he’s using the only tether to her as a means of harm and manipulation.” She inhaled shakily against Thranduil, but otherwise didn’t wake. Gandalf had a knowing gleam in his eye, but didn’t speak at the way Sara calmed with the woodland king holding her, instead wondering how they could add their own barrier to protect her. “She will need something to protect her when we cannot,” Elrond worked as a healer would, paying mind to her wounds without leering at the girl, adding bandages as he murmured the ancient tongue. 

“Put up another barrier,” Thranduil offered, but the others were unsure. “He could easily tear hers away the same as we have done to his,” Elrond’s eyebrows knit together. A guard was sent to bring Sara broth, or soup, and bread, something for her to regain her strength while being stuck in bed, the four deciding to monitor the situation and her healing before making any other moves. They still didn’t know the entire story. 


	15. Chapter 15

She woke two days later, the Feast in full swing. Outside of her room, she could hear even the guards enjoying themselves. She was alone, not even a dream to be had while she slept, and hissed quietly from the searing ache in her chest. What… _Sauron…_ She remembered his rage, the utter fury he exuded that she’d had help in removing one of the symbols from her mind, swearing he would find her still, threatening her with her own magic. Her magic… it felt odd, she didn’t consider her tinkering in her own world anything of note, but they were adamant she could alter things. Then… she could only remember a light. A light and the comforting scents of autumn, driving away Sauron and the pain he wrought on her. Sara groaned, a whimper sticking in her throat as she sat up. Thranduil had helped her again. Why? Nothing made sense. Inching herself off the bed, she stood, limping to change her clothes. A fresh tunic, form-fitting pants with her boots, her pouch, and a cloak. She supposed, that while she didn’t care for extra attention, that being a princess had its perks- she didn’t have a need for much. Thranduil provided everything as she was his guest. 

The steps she had to take were slow, bracing herself with the movements and the guard stationed by her room looked over her curiously. “You’re awake.” The sound was almost startling, and as she jumped, she hissed, turning to the elf. “I… yeah… I needed some air.” 

“You… shouldn’t be moving in your condition, Princess,” he offered, uncertain. “You should rest, there will be other feasts.” The corner of her lips quirked upward and she shook her head. “Thank you, but… I don’t think I’m heading to the feast. I need less noise.” 

“Then perhaps I could escort you to the library?” She stilled. The guard was making some kind of attempt to keep her in her room and she straightened, clutching her cloak despite the pain from breathing. “Was this His Majesty’s order?” He didn’t respond, but his averting eyes told her it had been. Thranduil gave the order for her to remain in her chambers. “It… it’s only so you heal properly, Princess, His Majesty was insistent that you recover.” 

The gesture was thoughtful, she knew he only wanted to look out for her since she swore to help him, but she couldn’t sit still. “There’s… something I need to do, then I’ll come back, I promise. I won’t be gone long.” She turned, thumbing over the wrapped necklace and began to depart when the guard called behind her. “What shall I tell His Majesty should he find you absent from where you’re supposed to be?” 

“Tell him… tell him it’s my fault. I only wished for a walk.” She wouldn’t let the guard get in trouble, not because of her, but it warmed part of her heart to know Thranduil wanted her to rest, regardless if it was solely for her ties to his land. Hope threatened to spring to life, that maybe… No. No, absolutely not. But her heart was miles ahead, giving her another ache altogether. She swallowed thickly, faintly hearing the sounds of guests enjoying themselves and drew her hood over her features. Her crown had since been placed on her nightstand, she didn’t want to draw any notice. 

Though she was unaware, she did draw someone’s attention. The Great Elvenking himself saw how she slipped past his guards, clutching something in her hand. His eyes narrowed, excusing himself to follow her and demand to know why she wasn’t in her chambers resting. Though injured, she was swift, leaving his halls entirely and toward the edge of the forest. Was she trying to run? It would have been suicide if she had, more so if she tried giving herself up to Sauron, thinking the dark lord would honor his word and leave others untouched. But he wasn’t close enough to spot how Sara stopped at the statue of his wife. “It’s me again,” she spoke softly, brushing the leaves and vines from the stone. “It looks like the chain is even taking the grass stains away. You look more beautiful each time I see you.” Thranduil had caught up then, hearing the last part and his eyes narrowed. Was she speaking with someo- no. She was at the statue of his wife again, moving with purposeful slowness from her wounds. “I don’t know if… if you can see over everything, but… but you probably know that my father left me with a gift.” 

She knelt before the statue, and the elven king saw that it looked less weathered. The stains were disappearing and the foliage had been cleared away. Was that her? Even the statue was too painful to look at, and Thranduil instead focused on Sara, on whatever she was doing. “I… I found my dad. I thought he was dead, but… but he was in my world, and… and then I come here, and he’s here too. He’s actually a king, which… which makes me a princess. It… feels weird, my queen, I’ve never been royalty before and…” With a heavy sigh, she rubbed her eyes, gingerly readjusting her position to sit at the feet of the statue, peering up to its face. “And I don’t know the first thing about it. Some of my memories are back, I was taken from my world by orcs and… th-the Necromancer said the longer I’m here, the less human I’ll have in me, but I don’t know what that means. I’m scared, my queen… I can’t talk to anyone about this…” Her voice wavered, as if she were about to cry, her wide eyes pleading to the stone. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here, not until my memories come back and the symbols are gone. E-Even then, I kept my promise. I had a fight with my father about it… he wanted me to leave this place and I told him I couldn’t…”

Thranduil couldn’t understand why she was unraveling everything to the statue of his late wife, as if the stone could hear her. “He was so angry with me,” her voice finally broke, and tears slipped from her eyes. “He knows the Greenwood is safest, that it keeps me camouflaged just as much as I do for it and… and he still was so mad… he left, but… but he had something to give to me after.. Uhm…” Sara shifted nervously and wiped her eyes, pulling the pouch from her hip. She withdrew a small thing, wrapped in cloth and handled tenderly, opening it to reveal the necklace from her father. The star, made of those white gems the king so desperately sought. Thranduil bristled, but she remained unaware of his presence, and carefully, she stood, presenting the dwarven made thing to the stone. “H-Here,” she offered, her tone small and cracking. “I… I want you to have it. I… I know what giving a necklace means, but… but I know what I am, and… you are more deserving of this than I’ll ever be, princess or not. I know it’s better left with you.” Her breaths shook, and with ginger movements, brought herself to the statue’s head, the necklace fitting over it and the star rested below the chin. 

Just as the Elvenking was about to call for her to get down, she did something that made him freeze entirely. Sara hugged the statue, crying against it, and finally kissed the top of its head. “I wish I could have met you,” she whispered, and to Thranduil, her heart seemed truly shattered. “Th-thank you for… for listening… I know I’m just a half-breed, but… thank you all the same. If… I’ll find a way to bring other things to you.” The elven king stilled, filled with an anguish that brought a single tear to slip from his pale blue gaze, and as if connected, he heard Sara cry out, holding her chest. “Ah!” It came out strangled, her features contorting painfully, more tears streaming from her eyes. Panting, she kept hold of the statue, whimpering as her heart constricted. Her heart ached, it was true, and she’d felt that sort of agony before, but… it was so unpredictable, it didn’t make sense. Why did her heart break so suddenly, so fiercely? She was losing grip on the statue, her legs giving out when she heard someone shout. Her eyes closed, bracing for a fall that didn’t come. She’d been caught, but who…?

Panic welled inside of her faster than she anticipated as her hazel eyes were met with pale, stormy blue. The king… The scents of autumn were once again wrapped around her, the masculinity against her senses and she could barely breathe. His expression was unreadable, but his pain… she felt his pain. How… “Were my orders not explicitly clear, Aranel?” Her breaths, what she could manage, shook and a whimper caught in her throat. “M-My King, I…”

“You were ordered to remain in your chambers while you were healing. And yet I find you at my borders, speaking to stone.” She swallowed thickly, not daring to look at the statue, her hands twisting and clenching into small fists. “I just-” 

“I see well enough, Aranel. You’ve left the gift from your father with it. What I don’t understand is why.” He set her down then, knowing she possessed no strength to run, but she backed away, terrified that she would finally blurt what she’d held onto for months. “Why were you leaving those gems behind? Anyone could take them.” 

“I don’t deserve them.” It was the first thing to leave her lips, and confusion knit his brow together, taking her back to his halls. “Your father acquired them for you, you’ve been crowned a princess, the ‘Western Star’ of all things, and yet you claim you are undeserving.” There was more to it, there had to be, he could see it in the way she avoided looking directly at him- it wasn’t because he sought the same gems, was it? “There’s much more to your claim than you’re telling me, isn’t there?” Her hands were clasped before her, just in front of her wounds, and she chewed her lip yet held fast to not looking at him. “I… I’m just a half-breed, my lord. Princess or not, I shouldn’t have something that nice. It… it would be better off with someone who should. I would just dull the beauty of them.” Conflict rose within him, an ache beginning to settle in his chest, and his lips parted slightly. She truly thought she was a vile creature, when nothing was further from the truth. Too often, his people had commented on her beauty since her crowning, her shyness endearing to them all. 

But she still hadn’t said everything. Thranduil’s conflict grew more, the brief temptation to touch her passing through his mind, to offer some kind of comfort, but thought better of it. He stopped as they passed the gates, looking over her. _The longer she remains, the less human she will be_. Those words still flickered through his mind, but he would be patient in figuring out what they meant. He had an eternity, and she was bound to more than just her oath. “You’ve clearly not heard what talk is being had around my halls then. You give yourself no credit, nor kindness, yet you’ve given it to others.” She remained uncertain, her eyes barely lifting to meet his. Even to him, she was beautiful, but… “It’s all I know, my King…” 

“Then you shall need to be taught otherwise. You need to be in your chambers and resting, Aranel. The other will come with time.” She swallowed and nodded, following a guard through the hall when he called to her. “And do not think you’ll succeed in another attempt to do what you’ve done this evening. I’ve changed your guards.” 

* * *

The king hadn’t lied to her- the guards really had been changed around. Stiff bastards, wouldn’t even let her open the door, and forget peeking out. The instant her handle would turn, they held it tight, locking her in a few times and she was confined to her room. She was stuck in the room for a month, food brought to her as well as clothing, but she was not permitted even a hair outside. Her wounds were healing better than she expected, believing she only needed half the time she’d spent confined, but no matter how she tried pleading to Thranduil, his order remained absolute. Not even Legolas could get her out. _His will is truly ironclad. Gods I need out…_ She was pacing, having read the books along the walls, then decided to exercise while confined. At least she still had hot water, and it wasn’t the dungeons. After the month had passed, she had a visitor. The healer had returned to check her over, as he had done each week. The glimmering sheen from her wings beneath her skin remained, and still, she hadn’t figured out a way to reveal or conceal them at will, leaving her frustrated.

“Princess, it’s good to see you again. How are you faring?” She huffed, almost scoffing, earning laughter from the healer. “That means you’re healing quite well. His Majesty will be pleased.”

“Can you… would you please tell him I’m capable of moving around now? I have to be healed enough that I don’t need to stay locked in my room.” She was almost pleading as she helped the healer with various herbs, hazel eyes searching as he drifted closer to her. “Only if your wounds will permit me the truth, princess. You know I cannot lie to His Majesty.” Her shoulders sagged, but he was right, and the girl inclined her head. “I know… I can’t either. Lying feels disgusting anyway. I just… I’m so bored! I’ve read everything in here and have been exercising, but…” He laughed again, taking the herbs from her that she’d crushed and had her sit to examine her wounds. Because of Elrond, they were nowhere as severe as when they were first inflicted, but scars would remain. New skin grew, pink and healthy amidst the dried, crusted blood that flaked onto the bandages, and the healer hummed to himself. “Better, much better. I think I can tell His Majesty exactly that. You’re almost entirely healed.”

Relief shuddered through her, she would be allowed to move around again! She hoped. Thranduil could extend her confinement as long as he wished- they were both immortal. Yet she became disheartened, rubbing over her scars. She never thought she was pretty, but now, with three massive, claw-like scars running across her chest, it made her self-image infinitely worse. As it was, she could still feel those claws within her, and the healer saw her discontent. “Some scars will ache for ages to come, Princess. It is my hope that these aren’t the same.” She nodded, now suddenly grateful Thranduil kept her in her room, wishing for no more than to hide and never be seen again. She looked like a monster. Sara barely noticed the healer’s departure and curled on her bed, clutching the pillow as she rubbed over the scars again. Almost like habit, her mind drifting to the worst scenarios possible as the healer met with the king in his chambers. “She’s well and healed enough to move about the place freely, my lord.”

“That will be all, thank you.” But the healer didn’t leave immediately, debating with himself on explaining further. “Is there something else that you wish to tell me?”

The healer took a heavy breath of his own, glancing toward the door. “The princess… seems rather disconcerted, my lord. She sees her scars and covers herself as shame fills her features.” Thranduil’s eyebrows knit together. “Do they give her pain?”

“More than just physical, my lord. It’s as though she continues to relive her attack.” 

“You may go.” He wouldn’t say it, but the woodland king had lost sleep a few nights, hearing her screams before they became choked, before he… Her screams still seared his nerves, and he knew all too well about reliving one’s nightmares. His fingertips drifted to his cheek, running over the smooth skin of the enchantment and knew what lay beneath. A glamour over his dragon-fire wounds… she had been marked by something equally unholy and foul, her gowns would display a portion of that, she would probably seek to avoid any public events. As a princess, however, she would have to attend, as it was required of her. If she could wield magic in her own world, however odd it seemed, then perhaps she could do as much in Middle Earth and erect a glamour to hide the marks that shamed her.

When he arrived at her chambers, the guards on either side of her door gave him room, allowing the woodland king to enter. “Aranel.” She lay on her side, holding the pillow with an utter defeat in her gaze, before she realized it was him. “O-Oh, my King…” Sara hurriedly removed herself from the bed and curtsied, her head low. As she did, Thranduil could see her scars peeking from her dress, noting that she turned to cover herself when she straightened. “Our healer tells me you’re healed enough to move about my halls, which means you are no longer in need of the confinement I placed upon you.” She nodded, but her back was to him, searching for something- a shawl. She was covering herself, as he suspected she would. “Th-that is… in your hands, my King. I will hold to whatever you decide is best.” Sara clutched the shawl, and Thranduil could see she would probably isolate herself. “He also tells me you seek to cover the scars left upon you. If I were to allow you the freedom to roam my halls once more, would I be mistaken in the idea you wouldn’t leave this room?”

She swallowed, her knuckles white and sat at the edge of her bed, her head lowered. “No, my King, you wouldn’t be. I… I do not wish to be seen like this, but I know there’s no choice…” 

“As a princess, you’re right. There is no choice. You are to be seen and that’s how it will be,” he saw her eyes close, tightly, but she never argued. “However, there is something you can do, if you’ve acquired the skill for it.” Confused, her eyes turned up to meet his pale blue. It clicked then, a glamour. He wore one over his dragon-fire scars. Did that mean… would he teach her how to put one over herself? “Wh-what is it, my King? I’m willing to try.” He strode with complete confidence around her room, every part of him flawless, absolute perfection. Even his neck… She could just see his collarbone, but looking too long would bring color to her features. “From the memory we saw just one moon past, it was revealed you could perform magic in your world, where magic didn’t exist. Do you remember?” Sara nodded, chewing her lip before she looked as though she wanted to speak. 

“That… I… I believe they exaggerated, my lord. Magic… magic there was not the kind that someone like Gandalf could do, I… I was only able to make guesses on things that would come based on patterns I’d witnessed and… and gave offerings to my gods and the animals of the forest. But to… to conjure things, that… that was not something that could happen.” His expression was understanding, arms folded over his broad chest. His robes never once picked up even a dusting of filth as he stepped toward her. “Yet you are here, in a realm where such magic _does_ exist, and you would seek to refute it?” Immediately she shook her head, hazel eyes wide as she gazed up at him and the way he towered over her. “N-Not at all, my King. Just… just explaining… I’ve always wanted to be in a place where magic was real…” He wasn’t sure if the remark was more for him, or herself, but those large eyes were entirely too distracting. Thranduil turned his gaze then, looking over the room she slept in, though his mind was on her. “That would mean you possess some sort of strategy, Aranel. And these gods of yours… what did you get in exchange for your offerings?”

Her fingers twisted, her cheeks coloring. Telling him it would be just as thanks for protecting her or giving her inspiration to write seemed foolish, but… “I left offerings as gifts, my lord, I never sought much. Only… only for protection and… and to have inspiration for my writing.” He was fascinated regardless, and though he had more questions, they would wait for another time, though he noted her gods didn’t protect her from being taken by orcs. “Well, that certainly explains things. That aside, if you’re truly insistent on learning of this world, one thing you should know is most elves, if not all, are capable of producing glamours, but they vary in strength.” Her mouth fell open unceremoniously before she caught herself, closing it, but her eyes glittered with rapt interest. “R-Really? You… you mean I can… I can hide my scars?” He wasn’t aware that she already knew of his, waiting for the time when he was ready to tell her, to not speak out on something so private. It wasn’t nice. Thranduil inclined his head with a small smirk, no crown upon that beautiful head of hair, but intimidating all the same. 

“You can, _if_ you can pick up the skill.” She swallowed again, twisting her hair and nodded. “A-And… m-my King, if… if I can’t, can I… could anyone help me?” 

“There are several who could aid you, yes, but only one possessing of real power can place one on you that will hold.” Her breaths shook, but she understood, even if she wasn’t aware that he would be the one to do it, that his glamour over himself was the strongest he’d ever encountered. “O-Okay, I… th-thank you, my King, for… for- well, e-everything…” Confusion and a small smile played at his features. She was a mystery, and he had no idea why she was thanking him. “What do you mean, Aranel?” Sara bit the inside of her cheek, uncertain. “I… well, I don’t know where to begin, my lord. I… I suppose for… for providing me with a place I can call home and… for not sentencing me to be executed after… after discovering that Sauron has messed with me for… I don’t even know how long. You… really are a great king. You’re fair, and you understand situations before they even unfold, and… you gave me a chance when you didn’t have to.” 

He realized then that she was vulnerable despite her complimenting, remembering what she’d told him before. Whether it was her oath, her being a princess, something settled within him then, and he called over his shoulder as he left. “Perhaps it is because I sense more in you than just your loyalty. This could prove to be a friendship over mere partnership.” The remark dazed her, and before she could reply, the king was gone. Friends? They could be friends? Friends meant some form of trust! Her heart stuttered in the confines of her ribs and she took a shaking breath, a smile of giddiness spreading despite the disgust she felt at her scars. Friendship meant something, it was a big deal in Middle Earth, no matter what race. Well, except for orcs. People from her world usually used friendship the way orcs in Middle Earth did, it was impossible to tell friend from foe, but… her mind raced, and as supper neared, Thranduil mercifully allowed her to dine in her chambers and keep her scars hidden, but even then, she could barely manage a bite. The words from the Elvenking replayed over and over in her mind like some broken record. Even sleep evaded her that night.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara attempts to learn glamours to cover her scars, and another symbol is removed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter will PROBABLY be triggering for some, as it's non-consensual touching and physical violence. The last thing I want to do is upset someone unknowingly. If you are triggered by something such as this, please do not read it. Aniron aduial vaer! (I wish you good evening!)

Another month had passed, and Sara worked diligently under Thranduil’s teaching to learn a glamour. Though she gave it her best effort, she didn’t possess the strength to make it hold for long. She chose most days to wear pants and a tunic that covered the scars entirely, realizing the elvenking didn’t insist on her wearing a dress. It surprised her, wondering why he was allowing her to stick to certain apparel and not dress as a princess should. Some days, the scars hurt where she couldn’t breathe, the king instantly spotting it. “Aranel? Aranel, come.” Though when she did, her legs gave beneath her and she fell, unconscious before she hit the floor. They were alone in his study as he went to her side, turning her over and checked her breathing, concern written over his features. “ _ Ada _ , there’s reports of more spiders coming in from Dol Guldur and I- Aranel? What’s happened?” Matching eyes of pale blue met, and the king turned his focus to Sara once more. “Bring some water and a cloth. Something dark seems intent to claim her and she persists in fighting it.” 

Legolas bolted to gather fresh water, allowing Thranduil to gently cradle Sara’s head, bringing it to rest on his lap. He let his fingertips brush over her features, through her hair, over her lips, unaware she was hypnotizing him again. Her breaths wheezed, but they grew strong as he murmured in Elvish his promise to protect her, that she was safe… that she was home. Reality crashed over him upon hearing his study door open, hearing his son return with a fresh pitcher of water and a chalice. “How long has this been happening,  _ Ada _ ?” Legolas knelt on the other side of Sara, tilting her face before taking her hand. The gesture earned his father’s intrigue, but said nothing. “Since she arrived in the Greenwood. There are dark barriers erected in her mind that Mithrandir would remove, they’ve only taken one from her thus far.” 

“Barriers? And what do they do?” 

“They siphon her magic and act as a tracker. Yet she remains hidden entirely within the kingdom. She even fought with her father over this just two moons past.”

It was then the prince brought him a cloth, having to retrieve it, forgetting it initially during his haste. Seeing the princess like that gave him panic, thankful his father seemed to know what to do. “Who would place such things in a person’s mind?” 

“Only the foulest magic known to the entire realm, black magic. She has no recollection of anything beyond what is revealed upon removing the symbols themselves. Mithrandir states they cannot all be done at once, lest it kill her, and if I wish my lands to remain unseen by these forces, I cannot remove them myself.” There was much more that hadn’t been said, yet Thranduil’s attention had shifted to placing the cloth, now damp, over her forehead, his leg the only cushion for her head against the stone of his study floor. Legolas’s hand was still engulfing hers when a small whimper broke free, hazel eyes blearily opening. “Wh-what… what happened?” 

“You’ve fainted, princess.” Her gaze met the prince’s, seeing his palpable relief. “Prince Legolas, my friend, I-” She shook her head, finally realizing how she was laying- her head on the king’s lap. Sara’s face colored and Legolas helped her to sit, releasing her hand to check for injuries.

As he checked, her gaze wearily turned up to Thranduil’s, mildly embarrassed for her sudden black out. His expression, however, seemed to be one of suspicion, his eyes intense as they stuck to her and his son. When Legolas was satisfied upon finding no injuries, he helped her stand. “You’re adapting well,” the prince remarked. “Studying more, I imagine?” 

“What? Oh, I… Y-Yes, Your Highness, trying to, in any case.” His eyes were concerned. “Are you feeling well?” She nodded, chewing her lip, and it was mostly true save for her flustered state. “I’m okay,” she promised, picking books from the floor. “Just embarrassed myself, that’s all. But… you’re back from patrols?” 

“Mostly, Tauriel and I were about to take out another raid together.” Both Sara and Thranduil saw how the prince’s demeanor shifted, almost wistful as he spoke of the redheaded elf. It was then the king knew his son didn’t harbor affections for the princess, but for the captain of the guard. “Take a few more with you,” Thranduil ordered in a clipped tone. “It’s foolish to attempt a raid with only the two of you.” 

Sara saw the way Legolas became frustrated and tucked her head down. She knew what was coming and it was best she didn’t interfere. Quietly, she returned the books to their shelves and mouthed the different titles, choosing another one on glamours to study. The air was tense, and she hugged a book to her chest, tucking a lock of hair behind a pointed ear with her eyes to the floor- an all too familiar stance from when she was in school, trying to make herself invisible. Legolas sighed, his footfalls heavier than before as he stalked from the study, leaving the king’s eyes to land on her. “Don’t stand there and attempt to make yourself invisible, Aranel. You see my son’s fondness for the captain as well as I do.” Bewildered, she turned her attention to Thranduil. How the fuck did he know? “I… My King?” She timidly stepped closer, knowing he could see how she was stunned. “You’re intuitive. Even if you cannot see it outright, you know it is there. It’s strange… for a moment I believed he was fond of you.” 

Both eyebrows rose and she almost dropped the book she’d been carrying, stumbling over herself. “I…” But she shook her head. “N-No, my King. Legolas sees me as no more than the Princess you’ve given shelter to against orcs-” 

“Oh, he sees you as more, I see that too. But for you, and despite your beauty, it is a friendliness, nothing more, yet the captain or any mention of her is met with a wistful eye and an outlandish grin.” Thranduil shook his head, pouring himself some wine. Sara was reeling… did he really call her beautiful? Her scars still pained her, so she assumed she was still awake, shifting and holding the book a little tighter. “So then… what happens? If… if he does feel that way about her, I mean…” There was a subtle flex of his jaw, one she easily detected, instinctively stepping back as to not provoke him further. “Nothing will happen,” he responded coolly. “She is nothing more than the captain of the guard and a Silvan elf. I will not allow my son to pledge himself to one such as her.”  _ Ouch _ . Sara bit her lip. She should have known not to ask that question, she already knew the answer. 

“If you have something you wish to say, then say it, Aranel. I can see your mind racing.” Instantly, she shook her head, tucking her head down. “Not… not at all, my King, I just… it’s not for me to think about. Regardless of what things may be, I’ve never had my love reciprocated, so I cannot even think to determine what should or should not be.” 

“But you  _ have  _ loved before?” Swallowing the knot in her throat, she lifted her gaze to his striking icy blue, her hazel red and stinging. “I have, but it only ended painfully, my lord.” His expression had initially been curious, then changed to one of understanding- he knew what it felt like, she knew he did, but neither spoke of it. “Then you understand why I speak in such a way.” She did, and while the perspective was off, she knew all Thranduil wanted was the absolute best for his son, and knew where Tauriel’s heart would go in time. “I do,” she agreed, her gaze down. “You are his father, you only want what you feel is best for your son.” When her eyes lifted once more, there was a softness, a friendliness in his eyes that made her heart stutter, daring to spark with hope that maybe… maybe things could grow between them. 

* * *

A few days had passed since her fainting spell when Gandalf and Lady Galadriel returned, Lord Elrond arriving with them. The time had come to remove another symbol from her mind. She was almost frantic, pacing in her chambers when they arrived, and Thranduil himself stayed as well. “Have you the fortitude to withstand another symbol’s removal?” Lord Elrond asked severely, and she swallowed, nodding. “Please, I… I just want these things gone. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder.” They guided her to the bed, much like the time before, gently bringing her to lay down, her head once again on Galadriel’s lap. One thing had changed, however, and Gandalf gestured for the Woodland King. “Thranduil, something about your presence acts as a barrier against Sauron. You are to take the place beside her, across from Lord Elrond.” She thought he would respond with something that it wasn’t his concern, or that she would just have to deal, but… he looked over her and approached, even took her hand as Elrond had. Worried hazel searched his pale blue, hoping she wouldn’t find any disgust or distaste within him. There wasn’t, but… his expression remained unreadable.

She didn’t know he was dreading the idea of her screaming in agony once again, unaware of it himself. His jaw was set with determination, as if he were marching in war, and Lady Galadriel began to murmur in ancient Elvish. Sara’s breath shook, panting, and the elven king met her panicked gaze. “It will pass,” he promised. “But it will take longer if you resist. Close your eyes.” She swallowed and did as he told her, unconsciously squeezing his hand as it dwarfed her own.

_ “Focus, Aranel, come to the sound of my voice.”  _ Lady Galadriel was in her mind, and Gandalf projected her memories before them, allowing Elrond and Thranduil a clear view, as if standing beside the faerie herself. The other symbols had focused, as she was promised, and only five remained. Five, but each one would hurt more than the last.  _ “Which one do I choose?”  _

_ “Whichever one you’re most guided to.”  _ Panic welled within her, and her voice was hushed as she called out. “My King?” Something about the way she called for him, no one else, sparked the returning conflict, but Thranduil held her hand still. “I yet remain, Aranel. Go on.” 

As if taking them in a row, Sara chose the next symbol, which resembled three swords, clashed together above another eye, a more demonic one. She was trembling, both in the waking world and her dream, and Lady Galadriel offered her hand in the vision. The symbol itself seemed to know she was about to remove it, and it began to fester and spread, as if growing roots within her very mind. The Lady pushed, splitting the symbol in the center and it did the same as the other- shifting from crimson to fierce orange. She shivered, whimpering as the same process had begun, though she had better control. The more it burned her, the more her tears would flow, her hold tightening on both Elrond and Thranduil, both returning her squeezes to remind her they were still there. Galadriel had removed a piece, a large portion of it shattering and disintegrating to nothing, mere vapors, and something roared within her mind.  _ “He’s here… Please… we have to… we have to hurry…”  _

Though the Lady could only do so much, and Sara knew she had no choice- she had to help break the thing away, and ripped pieces of it away by hand. As if having some effect, her skin was seared before it too had disappeared, and she swallowed back the cries threatening to escape.  _ “You’ve done more than enough, Aranel. Please, stand back.”  _ Each breath hitched, but she did as Galadriel said, moving behind the elven woman as she pushed harder against the symbol. Each piece that broke seemed intent on launching itself at one of them, missing its target and fading to nothing until they finally hit the last piece. Upon its departure, a piercing shriek filled their ears and it exploded above their heads, leaving Sara to gasp as if she had been saved from drowning. The vision was almost immediate.

Locked in that same cell, she was no longer chained by iron, but left to rot within the bars. Orcs would pass and jeer at her, throwing decayed animals at her and laughing when she screamed. Many times, she would gag, left to the mercy of those disgusting creatures that had heavier footfalls than any person she’d ever met. Once or twice, they would aim to touch her, to feel her skin, only to have their hands cut from them by the Necromancer himself. The black mass would stand there then, as if expecting her to thank it, but she turned her head. The vision shifted, and it was further on, the clothing she wore no more than rags, the girl malnourished and lay on the floor, battered and bruised. “Your skin is like fruit with how easily it bruises,” the shadow purred, circling her. “I wonder if you taste just as good.”

In the waking world, Sara made a strangled cry, shaking her head as if to deter the thing. “You can’t tell me no, I’m the one who keeps you from the orcs’ breeding pens! Show some respect!” It struck her, causing her vision to waver and darken. More time had passed, and it had been the same scene, but she was dragged to another room, bolted to a table while an orc approached with searing hot tongs, digging them into her side and tugging her wings. Sara screamed, reliving the agony, before the orc had then broken her arms and legs. The pain was indescribable, she prayed for death that would never come, and the Necromancer again decided to pay her a visit. “Somebody wishes for a moment with you…” The voice was singsong-ish, as if something truly insidious awaited her, but she couldn’t move to flee.

She was dragged into a regal, dark room, tossed at the feet of some nefarious throne, only seeing shimmering black sabatons that had moved closer. She could only whimper, and the four surrounding Sara in her chambers waited with bated breath to see the face they thought would come. Whoever it had been had knelt beside her, murmuring in Black Speech and begun to lift her, healing her broken bones. “There… that’s better. Will you look at me, beautiful?” She whimpered, unwillingly turning her face up to find an inhuman beauty. A man- no, an _elf-_ that took her breath away, but it was as though his throat had been cut and his eyes were a glowing, angry orange, just as intense as her symbols had been. “Who are you…?” Her voice rasped and cracked, squirming in his hold and the elf set her down, offering her cold water. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he urged softly, the cup to her lips. “I want to help you.”

Help? Hazel eyes were mistrustful and she tucked her head down. “H-Help me… how?” Already, the four around her knew it was Sauron, and they silently cheered for Sara as her mistrust grew upon seeing his smile. “I want to apologize for my soldiers handling you in such a fashion, and I wish to make a deal with you. Become my queen, and I can give you the world.” The cup she had fell, splashing on her grimy skin. “Wh-what?” Sauron chuckled, tilting her chin up with a smile that seemed charming, but her stomach twisted. “You understood me quite well, my pet. Become my queen and I can give you everything. You harness an unfathomable gift, and I would like to be a part of it, well beyond being taken in by your beauty and hypnotizing eyes. I can already grant you a gift now to help with your decision.” 

Sara jerked as he inched closer, snatching her wrist and pulling her to stand, her chest against his. She whimpered, tugging from him, but he wouldn’t give. He let his eyes drift over her hungrily, removing his gauntlets and set them aside to run his fingers over her. Her skin crawled and she pushed at him, tears falling from her eyes and cries stuck in her throat. “N-No…” 

“Darling, what do you mean, ‘no’? I’m merely giving back that which was taken from you.” His lips were on hers, hands still traveling along her figure and he growled against her with carnal intent. Fearing the worst, she struggled more, then felt something shift inside her. Sauron smiled, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “There. An elf cannot properly claim his queen if she is not a maiden. The problem has been rectified and we, my love, shall consummate our bond when the vows are shared.” 

“NO!” Sara lashed out, scraping her nails down the side of his face, but when his eyes met hers, there wasn’t even a mark. As if she’d done nothing. 

He laughed… he was laughing at her. Sara felt dread knot in her stomach and he threw her to the floor, towering over her. “You don’t get to tell me no anymore, darling. That was your only shot.” A Necromancer had returned, and the thing trembled before Sauron’s presence. “Take her to the isolation chambers- she won’t even see her hands in front of her down there.” 

Sara’s eyes snapped open then, her breathing panicked and frightened, tears spilling from her eyes as she scrambled to find Sauron. “He’s not here, dear girl,” Gandalf promised. “It was just your memories of him.” She looked over herself, seeing she was clean despite her scars, that she wasn’t in any danger. Yet she couldn’t shake the grimy sensation from herself, nor the skittering sensation that bugs were all over her. “Make it go away…” Thranduil and Elrond helped her sit forward, the girl shivering continuously. “Can you talk about any of it?” The elven lord wondered cautiously. Her breaths hitched, but she nodded, barely seeing the worry on all their features, Thranduil included. Unable to keep her balance while sitting, she fell against the Elvenking, who made no attempt to push her from his frame. “It… I-I was.. I was in those cells f-for… for years before… before the Necromancer took me t-to Sauron.” Each of the elves and the wizard around her were horrified, but it was Gandalf and Elrond to press. “How many years, do you know?” She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to remember. 

“S-Six, I… I think. Every day, the… the orcs would taunt me and break different bones. The… the ones who tried to touch me had their hands cut off, then the… the Necromancer would heal me, but… but that time, in the vision, he… he made me a-a maiden again…” Another audible swallow and she hid her face in her hands, shivering visible. Sauron made her a virgin again, wanting to claim her for himself as his ‘queen’, when she could only assume he meant to kill her and take her power. “It… it was a lie, right? I mean… I was going to die anyway…” 

“Well, somehow, you managed to find freedom, even shelter, so that must mean something.” Upon Elrond’s insistence at finding shelter, Sara’s gaze drifted up to Thranduil’s, seeing his expression was conflicted and bore a pain that dug into her very soul. He was worried. That… that couldn’t have been for her… was it? 

“When… when can we find out?” Just as the question left her lips, an inhuman roar filled her ears and she curled into herself, tearfully scouring her surroundings. She was quaking, her fingers twisting in the hands of Lord Elrond and King Thranduil. “Aranel? Aranel, what is it?” She barely heard Gandalf’s question, her breaths stuttering as if she’d run for miles, gasping for air. “He’s… he’s angry… he’s so angry…” 

_ “Do you really think you’ll ever be rid of me?! Come now, ‘princess’, tell me who’s sheltering you! Where are you!?!?”  _ She yelped, whimpering. “He’s… he’s demanding I tell him where I am…” 

“That means he still cannot find you, the Greenwood cloaks you entirely.” 

_ “You can’t hide forever! Sooner or later, you will reveal yourself! Even a queen will be shackled when she disobeys her king!”  _ Sara became rigid, tensing for an attack that never came. The roaring, the yelling, it had all vanished. Then, a banging inside her mind. Louder and louder it grew, but as a shadow fell within her mind, its attempt to darken her conscious, a light grew around her, protecting her. It grew still, pushing outward, leaving only a bright illumination within. 

Sara gasped, panting furiously and searched the room. Nothing had changed- but she couldn’t move. She then noticed someone speaking, but in a dialect she’d never remembered hearing before, and the scents of autumn enveloped her. Locked in an iron grip, she pushed, only to be met with unyielding muscle encased in silk. Thranduil. His arms were around her- he’d pulled her from Elrond’s hold and placed her against his chest, his large hand cradling her head as if she were newly spun glass. Her heart thundered against her ribs, but she found herself relaxing in his hold, giving into her selfish temptation and turning her face against him, inhaling deeply the scents that radiated the season with his masculinity, noticing not a soul spoke as he continued to murmur against her. Time stilled in that moment, and though frightened, she wanted to preserve it just to stay in the embrace that brought her safety. She almost felt… wanted, but more than anything, the hold felt… protective. Sara felt like she was home.

She hadn’t realized that her arm had gone around him, hand tickled by his silken strands of hair that unconsciously brought her fingers to drift through, as if trying to comfort him. “M-My King..?” He’d felt her delicate fingers drifting over his back and through his hair, adding to his conflict but he chose to give in, the sensation a gentleness he didn’t know he’d been missing for ages. The ancient dialect began to wane, and the king’s hold loosened against her, allowing Sara to raise her head to meet his gaze. She would have loved nothing more than to kiss him, to have him kiss her, her face coloring when his striking sapphires landed on her swollen lips. She was unaware that Thranduil was thinking of it, but had come back to himself upon hearing Lord Elrond clear his throat. Sara’s face darkened further, tucking her head down as the king’s arms left her, but kept a hand on her back to keep her upright. “Th-thank you again, my King…” 

“What was it that brought the king to murmur the old dialect of protection?” 

Sara knew, and upon Elrond’s question, met the elven lord’s eye. “This… I don’t know but… wh-when His Majesty does it, it… it blocks Sauron from making contact, I don’t… I don’t know why, but… this time… this time, he couldn’t even break through.” Neither of them knew why it was Thranduil who could protect her, but no one else, the matter was complicated, but Gandalf and Lady Galadriel had ideas of their own. Perhaps Sara wasn’t tied solely to the Greenwood. Perhaps her magic also tied to Thranduil’s in a way they weren’t aware of. Two symbols were gone, which meant she had four more to fight through to reclaim her memories and whatever abilities Sauron was siphoning from her. “It’s as though your connection to the Greenwood offers you some sort of foundation that aids in the protection you’ve been given.” 

“Perhaps it is more.” Sara’s eyebrows knit together, confused at Gandalf’s mysterious words, closer to believing Elrond’s about her connection to the kingdom. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding with Legolas and Tauriel... even with Thranduil- a little. And Sara discovers another power after having symbol number two removed from her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am well aware the gift with animals is right there with Radagast. Non-canon, as I've mentioned, but something I truly enjoyed writing, and like the OFC, I too share a tender heart for animals.

Neither Sara nor Thranduil spoke of the last symbol being removed from her mind, about the way he’d kept her against him as he murmured his will to protect her. He became a touch colder toward her, but she couldn’t figure out what the reason was, believing she’d done something to anger him again. “Do it again, and  _ focus _ , Aranel. You’ll get nowhere if you persist at this rate.” They were in his study, pushing to construct a stronger glamour for her scars. The second and most recent symbol had been removed weeks ago, but since then… it was as though the king was frustrated with her presence. “I… I’m trying, my King,” she offered timidly, hands trembling. “I.. I’ve pushed everything from my mind, but it won’t hold…” It wasn’t entirely true, she couldn’t get him from her mind, various things about him. What focus she could muster wasn’t strong enough, barely holding for longer than an hour at most. She’d been in his study all day, and began to grow weary. “That’s enough.” The order was biting, a low growl in his voice and Sara hurriedly tucked the shawl around her shoulders, hiding her scars.  _ Help me understand what I did wrong..  _ “You’re dismissed for the day.”

Knowing if she stayed longer than even a moment after his release of her, that he would become even angrier, she kept her head down, almost bolting from the king. Her breaths shook, almost panting when she was far enough away to calm herself. She didn’t cry, though her heart ached, wishing for that tender moment that replayed over and over in her mind.  _ He doesn’t want you, he’s only protecting you so the Greenwood stays safe, that’s it.  _ She got as far away from his study as she could, running into Tauriel in the halls. “Tauriel! You startled me!” The redhead laughed brightly, falling in step with her. “Something on your mind? You usually always spot me.” Thankfully, the captain was the one person who listened to her insistence on not using her title- well, when Thranduil wasn’t around, in any case. If he was, they had to remain proper, but Sara just wanted her friend. “I… uhm… maybe… maybe a little. Can we… can we go somewhere?” Eyes of jade narrowed briefly, concerned, but the girls traveled through the halls until they were far enough away from Thranduil’s study that she began to relax. 

“What’s been bothering you? You’ve been dreary for weeks now.” Was it really that bad? Sara chewed her lip, sighing heavily. “I’m… trying to learn how to glamour. I can get the foundation done right, but… I can’t make it hold for long.” Tauriel’s head tilted in curious confusion. “Glamours? For what? Is there something you don’t wish anyone to see?” When the faerie tucked her head down, shuffling awkwardly, the redhead had her answer. “Aranel, what happened? Where are you hurt?” The princess tightened her shawl, her gaze weary and uncertain. The elven woman never even exerted any force, but gently peeled away Sara’s shawl, revealing the pinkened scars above the line of her gown. The princess waited for her to recoil, but the movement never happened, eyes of grass reflecting only remorse. “How…?” She bit her lip, the two walking amidst the trees that brought her so much comfort. “There’s… so much. I don’t even know where to start.” 

“How about the beginning? That’s usually where things are best explained.”

She told the captain everything- almost. She kept secret her ever-growing love for Thranduil, but mentioned the dark lord Sauron and how he kidnapped her from her world, bringing her to theirs, and Tauriel wondered if the gateway was still open. “I… don’t know. I don’t even know how long it’s actually been. From my last memories, the least time I’d spent in Dol Guldur was six years. And… and I don’t even know why, but… the longer I’m here, the less human blood I have.” 

“Do you think it’s your faerie blood that is turning the human part of you?” That was the only thing that made sense. A lot of sense. Sara’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open. “I… that’s probably it! But… but how human was I when I was first taken? My first memory was that I had Elvish ears and my wings, but…” The conversation continued, but she was careful not to speak of how their king made Sauron’s attacks against her stop.

After Thranduil had dismissed Sara, rather curtly, discontent rose in his chest, his conflict rising even stronger. Since that moment weeks ago, he hadn’t had a moment’s rest- her absence made things dimmer, vastly less interesting than when she was in his presence. He wasn’t about to begin thinking of her that way, of wanting her in his life from the moment he would rest his head to spotting her as his eyes opened. He couldn’t. It was a betrayal to his wife’s memory as he often told himself. Yet each time he would, his mind would drift to the vulnerability she showed him, the way her head fit perfectly over his chest, and those delicate fingers through his hair that continued to send chills down his spine each time he thought of it. Her lips… so often swollen from biting them, tempting him further and those eyes… those large, doe-like eyes so filled with the life of the Greenwood, stealing his breath away. She maddened him, gave him serenity, filled his dark, meaningless life with new light- no. No, no, absolutely not.

He wore his ever-stoic mask, cold and calculating, not showing her as he held fast to mourning his late wife. It was better to push the girl away, easier to be cold and refuse to let another in. He would even adamantly insist that her being a half-blood was something that turned him off, but… her human blood was disappearing. What would she be afterward? Still a half-breed? His mask remained effective enough to frighten her, the princess not once uttering a protest when he would so callously dismiss her. When she’d brush past him, he’d catch the scents of those sweet flowers, reminding him of a warm spring- Lissuin and Elanor blossoms. More than once, his hand had twitched to reach for her, but each time, he withdrew, refusing to show that side of himself again. She truly had been working as hard as she could on the glamours for her scars, but even he saw something plaguing her. She wouldn’t speak of it, and he didn’t pursue the matter, too engulfed in what would happen if he were to know her more. It would be easier to separate themselves.

Sara and Tauriel had drifted to the gardens, and the faerie noticed that while things were green to an extent, other things had wilted, even slightly. She knew the Greenwood was sick, a darkness that threatened to fester and spread, adding to her ache even more. The kingdom was steadily growing more ill as time went on, but… would things get better or worse if she left? She had to remind herself that leaving the kingdom meant her trace would remain as it was made visible to Sauron and his forces, though she wondered if Thranduil would rather her leave and deal with the situation himself. Maybe she needed to start packing… She hovered over a wilted vine, her fingertips gently stroking the curling leaves when she heard a small wheeze, too tiny to be from Tauriel. “Did you hear that?” She asked in a whisper, but the redhead was only perplexed. “I’ve not heard anything. Merely the breeze through the trees.” Yet the princess could still hear it and began to drift closer to the sound, noting it came from the ground and kept her eyes lowered. 

“Aranel, what is it?” But Sara hushed her friend, finger raised for her to wait. She came across a fox, curled in on itself and whining weakly. “Oh! Oh, you poor baby! Come here, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” The animal could barely raise its head, its teeth unable to be bared defensively. She scooped the fox in her arms, stepping from the trees as she removed her shawl, forgetting her scars entirely. “It’s sick,” she breathed to the redhead, eyes pained and panicking. “I have to help it… I have to…” She knelt in the middle of the gardens, spotting the fawns that had inched closer in curiosity, as well as that large rabbit. “Shh, it’s okay,” she breathed, cradling it against her chest. “I’m going to help you, okay?” The fox whined, its breaths gasping. “A lot of the forest creatures have fallen to the sickness within the Greenwood,” she vaguely heard Tauriel as she brought the fox to lay before her, uncovering it as tears welled in her eyes. Poor baby… she knew it was on the brink of death, not seeing how she attracted attention as she opened its mouth to check its teeth and gums. 

Her breaths quickened and she picked up the animal as it begun to grow limp, her hand resting over its heart and stomach. Her eyes closed, tears falling down her cheeks and placed her forehead against the fox, willing something,  _ anything _ , to make it better. She felt an energy tingling from her stomach and spread outward, moving to her hands that encased the red fur and melded against it, sinking within the creature as she rocked back and forth with it. “Please,” she whispered softly. “Please breathe. Please be okay…” She willed the energy to push further, her shoulders shaking desperately. Finally, after a time that felt as if forever had passed, she felt the distinct tense of muscle and heard another whine, livelier than before. Sara gasped, seeing the fox’s fur held more of a fiery hue and it barked happily. Overcome with relief and dizziness, a sob wrenched itself free as she hugged the animal, finally releasing it and watched as it bounced merrily around the garden. “Aranel… you… you healed that fox.”

Hazel eyes, weary and exhausted, turned up to Tauriel’s bewildered jade, managing a tired smile. “I… I did, huh? I couldn’t… I couldn’t let it die, Tauriel.” Sara picked up her shawl, her movements slow as she began to regain her bearings, stumbling as she tried to stand. Neither she nor the captain had seen both Legolas and Thranduil some yards away, the entire scene visible to them. “ _ Ada _ , she can heal the sick animals- she can probably heal the Greenwood.” The Elvenking saw how she stumbled, how weary she became after the display. She was glowing- she had begun to glow and it enveloped the fox in a warm, soothing light, taking away the plague that sought to claim it. The muscle in his jaw twitched and he turned his head, not showing his son the conflict in his eyes, nor the urge to touch her, to see if she was all right. He knew she was, logically, he knew she had a strength that she herself was not yet aware of, but… no. He wouldn’t betray his wife that way. 

“She would need much more practice if that were the case, Legolas,” he responded coolly, his robes drifting behind him with each regal step. “One fox leaving her in that condition would mean she would likely kill herself before she could heal a single tree.” Legolas had opened his mouth to protest, but had his mind elsewhere and joined the girls. “You have a gift, Aranel, one that I have only heard a wizard possessing.” 

“Oh! Prince Legolas, I… it’s good to see you.” Sara was visibly worn out, even her voice conveyed as much, leaning on Tauriel as she tried summoning more energy to clear her head. “I just… I heard it, and… even-even in my world, sick animals always hurt my heart. I’m just lucky I can do something about it here.” They had begun walking through another cluster of trees when she leaned against one of the massive oaks, her breaths heavy. “Aranel?” Legolas and Tauriel called for her in unison. Sara grinned, inching to sit on the ground, shaking her head. “I’m okay,” she promised, a touch breathless.

From the autumn air, the ground was cold, but it woke her up more. “Just need a minute, and… it’s so pretty here. I’ve always wanted to live in a forest, especially like this. I mean, just  _ look _ at it all. There’s so much life, and each of you protect it fiercely. I want to be able to help somehow.” She lay her head back against the tree, a blissful smile on her features. “I think… if I can get stronger, then I can.” Both Tauriel and Legolas sensed her attachment to the forest, their gazes gentle as they sat with her. “I think this is the first time I’m seeing it,” the prince commented, almost teasing. Sara opened her eyes, a small smile on her features. “What?” 

“You look as though you’ve just come home.” Her smile grew, bright and what looked to be happy, as if it was the first time she’d known the feeling. “I… Well, I’m tied to this place, my blood is, so… I guess I am? It’s just… relieving, to be in this place, to see it the way it is. I lived somewhere close to an area like this from my world. The trees weren’t as big and not quite so many clearings, but when you’re in the forest, it just…” She sighed, content and reminiscent. 

“You lived somewhere like this before?” Legolas wondered, and when Sara nodded, their fascination with her seemed to grow. “You remember me telling you I was human before? Well, even when I was a little girl, I would go out wandering into the woods, and my parents hated it when I would go by myself, but… I made friends with deer and all kinds of animals. They let me play with their young too.” 

“Do you miss it? Being human, and being back where you come from?” Tauriel’s question made her still, her face sobering from the happiness. “I only miss a friend I had there, if we’re being honest. And this thing I used to have that was a library, no bigger than a book- no, it’s true! I would write my own stories and watch these moving pictures, but…” Those two really were her best friends then, their faces ultimately concerned above their curiosity. “But what?” Sara met eyes that matched her heart’s desire, then ones a sweet, grassy green, sighing to herself. “But… my friend? The one I told you about? She was half a world away. Beyond her, I… I was alone. And I can take solitude, I love it, actually, but loneliness is something else entirely and I was never wanted there.

“In the world I come from, the word ‘love’ didn’t mean a thing. It was just something men said to get what they wanted, usually a night in bed, and they were done with you afterward. I… I still had my priorities straight and would never stay with them, so… they would get angry and leave, or… they would force the issue. So… in light of everything, I truly don’t miss being human, being associated with people like that, and I only miss my friend. I… it’s much more welcoming here.” Both the prince and the captain had similar grins, the two of one mind and sparking Sara’s suspicion. “What…?” Tauriel was on her feet first, offering her hand, almost bouncing on her heels when Legolas stood and offered his as well. The princess took both, the two lifting her quickly and setting her on her feet, pulling her toward the halls of the kingdom. “Then you need a proper welcome,” Legolas hinted, but said no more, while the redhead giggled brightly. “Come on! You’re safe with us!”

She knew she was- those two always made her smile and kept her going. Sara couldn’t stifle her own laughter, jogging with them when they made it to the cellars, finding casks that stretched as far as the eye could see. “Jesus, fuck  _ me _ … that’s a lot of wine!” Her disbelief made them grin, only after they recovered from her swearing. “I told you father always gets the best,” Legolas offered, bringing them far enough in that no one would hear them. “That you did- wait. Your welcome is to get me  _ drunk _ ?” She was laughing still, noting how Tauriel nicked three cups and finally found a casket, with Legolas filling them all. On instinct, Sara sniffed the wine and wiggled her nose, the fruit scents already intoxicating. She felt like a teenager that had just swiped a beer from her parents, or had been given liquor for a holiday, the thrill of being caught making her giddy and nervous. “What’s wrong with a little fun? You’re always studying and always trying to improve- you could use a break!” Tauriel tapped her cup against the princess’s, and the three opted to sit along the beams holding the casks. 

“Even  _ Ada  _ says you work hard, Aranel,” the prince spoke, matter-of-fact. “He does?” Legolas inclined his head, swirling his drink. “In his own way, but yes. Now, our first proper welcome, and to a princess- welcome, Princess, we’re glad to have you with us, even if you were shaking like a leaf the first time we met!” They all took a drink and Sara almost snorted. “In my defense, orcs were about to make me into a pie, so… thanks for that.” She took another drink, they all did, with the princess feeling the wine’s effects almost immediately. Warmth enveloped her and she relaxed against a cask, just as their questions drifted to her life before she’d been brought to Middle Earth. They were most interested in technology, about the way things were so simple with communication. “It’s a blessing and a curse,” she sighed, taking another sip. “It’s made so many people lazy because everything is right there at their fingertips. Even the poorest person living in a hovel has the option of having a freshly prepared, piping hot meal delivered to their door from miles away.” 

The two were mystified, and genuinely mulled over her words before Tauriel asked, “Was it the tale of love that keeps you here? Of the insincerity of your world?” She nodded, taking another drink. “That’s part of it. People pretending to be something they’re not, lying, hurting others because they can, and they value nothing except what gets them further ahead. The laziness too. I mean, I miss my computer, but… I can’t explain how wonderful it is to use a quill and write my own tales by hand, the way it just… leaves me feeling as though I accomplished something.” Their topics drifted to other things, with Sara asking about various parts of the world and stories they had to share, listening as a child would, with rapt interest. Their sense of humor had her in hysterics, their sarcasm even more so, and they went through several cups, not knowing hours had passed between them. They played a couple games, Elvish ones, and each time Sara lost, she would drink, the girl thoroughly intoxicated as things progressed. 

Neither of them heard the robes swishing, nor the steps of the woodland king, his icy blue eyes alight with indignation. He’d spoken with several guards to retrieve the captain and his son, yet not a one could find where they’d gone. Even Sara had disappeared, not in her chambers and not in her usual hiding places. Thranduil had checked the library, the gardens, the courtyard, but she was nowhere to be seen. Only one of the guards had an inclination of where they’d gone, remarking to the king that he’d seen the three heading toward the wine cellar. He passed several casks, his keen hearing picking up the muffled sounds of laughter and drifted closer, the sound growing. When he’d found them, Sara was on the stone floor, laughing to the point of tears, with Legolas doing some kind of impression and Tauriel snorting in her cup. He quirked an eyebrow, and despite his aggravation, enjoyed the sound of the princess’s laughter. Her happiness was beautiful. Legolas had seen the king before the other two, flailing and fell over, and Sara squeaked with more laughter until she caught the sight of silvery-blonde hair. Tauriel immediately sobered, and the princess picked herself up, wrapping her shawl around herself. 

Her grin hadn’t faded, though it was gentler, and she held her cup to him. “My King! They wanted to welcome me to Eryn Galen- stay and have a drink?” She saw the conflict in his eyes and set her cup aside, getting to her feet when she wavered. Both Legolas and Tauriel had become tense at the sight of the king, but Sara was drunk. She only saw another person to join them. She took careful steps to him and brazenly took his arm, bringing him further in. “A fair amount of drink makes you braver,” he remarked, and she could see the tension in his own shoulders. “O-Oh…” She giggled, offering her seat to him and inclined her head. “I’m… I’m sorry, my King. I’m afraid if I curtsey that I’ll fall. Let me get you a cup- unless you want mine, then it’ll be me grabbing one for myself.” 

“ _ Ada,  _ we were-” 

“I know very well what you were doing, Legolas.” Sara paused, her inebriated brain processing the aura in the space. “What I wish to know is why the three of you opted to linger in the shadows.”

“We did not wish to make a scene, my lord,” Tauriel murmured. “We had thought that since Aranel was unable to attend the feast-” 

“You assumed drinking with her in my wine cellars was just as equal.” The tension grew and Sara cleared her throat. “It’s my fault, sire,” her voice was steady, braver from the alcohol. “We spoke of my former home and how I’ve come to call your kingdom home now. Can we please not fight? It’s supposed to be a happy time and I just want to get to know everyone.” Tauriel had stood, her gaze to the floor and began to leave, giving Sara a small grin. “We can catch up later, there’s work to be done.” Legolas followed her, patting the princess’s shoulder as he departed. She knew he only followed Tauriel to make sure she was okay, that he loved her. Their departure had left her with the king, who looked over her cup and sighed, standing as well. Sara pouted slightly and took his arm. “Wait… please?” Thranduil stilled, and though she wasn’t aware of it, he silently swore at himself for ruining her fun. “What is it, Aranel? There are-” 

“There’s always work to be done,” she huffed, pulling him back into the space and sat down, patting a place beside her. “But I asked you to stay and have a drink. Isn’t there some Elven custom about sharing drinks when the guest asks?”

He quirked his eyebrow, taking the place beside her, but grinned slightly. “And what, may I ask, would provoke my guest to request such a thing?” She sipped from Tauriel’s forgotten cup, humming to herself. “Well, you said before that maybe we can be friends. How about we get to know each other better? Every time we see one another, I’m always learning this or that and I want to just…  _ not _ work right now. Please, my King? You’re always doing everything you can to protect the thousands in your kingdom, which I know always needs to happen, but… you deserve a moment, too. Even if it’s just a drink.” Her cup was in his hand, the king examining it as if looking for dirt, then sighed heavily before standing again. “If you’re asking to share a drink with me, then we would need to be elsewhere. Somewhere cleaner. Come, if you think you’re sober enough to walk.” She snorted, defiance in her eyes that remained playful. “Ohh, that… yes, my King. Lead the way.” She followed as they passed through various halls, watching as he took two bottles of wine from the cellar and began to ascend- to the royal wing. Her eyebrows knit together. “You’re not making me go to bed, are you?” 

Thranduil’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, barely containing his smile. “What on earth gives you that impression? Keep up, Aranel. I know your height is lacking, but you’re usually faster than this.” Her mouth fell open, but she moved a little quicker, following him to… his chambers? Color rose against her features, the alcohol making her flush along with the places her mind had gone, and the king closed the door behind them. “You will remember I told you this is one of the more private spots within these halls.” She nodded, fingers clasped in front of her and watched as he set the bottles aside, filling two glasses. When he offered her one, she gently took it and inclined her head. “Yes… thank you, my King.” Another quirk of his eyebrow as he watched her gaze around, the flush on her cheeks brightening her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly lost your tongue now that we’re away from open ears.” 

“O-Oh, I… n-no, that’s not it, I just…” A heavy breath left her and she took a drink. Thranduil had taken a seat on a chair she hadn’t seen, but Sara chewed the inside of her cheek. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony, Aranel.”

“It’s hard to think of a question, my King,” her voice had gone tiny. “Not… not because of your status, it… it’s more than that. You’re  _ intimidating _ .” He chuckled then, drinking his wine, watching her step around. “Take a seat. You were a lot braver in the cellars with Legolas and Tauriel. Where has your fight gone?” She sat down, across from him with her lips pursed. “First, you’re the king-” 

“You’ve said that.” 

“Then there’s your eyes.” She huffed, wiggling her nose, and Thranduil made a sound of disbelief. “My eyes? What of them?” 

“Even my dad can’t make me stop with a glance like he used to, but you… they’re disarming. Pretty though, even if I do think you can stare into a person’s soul.” He laughed. Sara heard him laugh and it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. Hazel eyes shot to see the most gorgeous smile she ever lay eyes on, and though drunk, her heart was thundering madly. He took her breath away. “What? It’s true- they look like stars.” He knew she was drunk, but Thranduil assumed that was why she was so blunt, even if the remark made his heart stutter for the first time in centuries. “Then are those the only reasons why you’ve yet to think up a proper question?”

Sara shook her head, face knitted in concentration. She had to remember not to give away how much she fell in love with him. “No… there’s… there’s so much I want to know,” she admitted, taking another drink. “Not just about you being king, but… what was your life like growing up? What did you do for fun then? What do you do for fun now? Did you have a favorite game? You’ve housed me for months, and I know that’s nothing in our lifespan, but I was human before- that means more to me than I can express and…” She groaned, a huff leaving her and she took yet another drink, a larger one. “So many questions already,” he teased, but he took a sip of his own, leaning back in his seat. “Well, the first thing you should know is I come from a land known as Doriath. It was also known as Eglador, during the Years of the Trees and the First Age of the Sun.” He saw her eyes become glittery, and knew he had her full attention. Thranduil continued to explain where he’d come from, that he inherited the throne from his father, the kingdom as well, then spoke of the things he’d done during his youth.

“I was a traveler, a wanderer. During such times, I learned all I could of the arts. Music, dancing, poetry. I’ve become the one of the best fighters of the Elves-” Her eyebrows rose and she bounced a little in her seat, tapping the table excitedly. “That’s amazing! Could you teach me? My world didn’t have the fighting styles that there are here.” 

“You’re that insistent, are you?” She nodded, taking another drink, then the king refilled her glass. “You’re one of  _ the  _ best, hardly anyone's good as you. That means- only if you’re willing, I don’t want to push- that there’s no one better that I can learn from.” Her giddy excitement, even while intoxicated, was something Thranduil found endearing, and he began to relax around her a little more. “There’s always the possibility, but what do you know of the arts within Endor?” She knew Endor was another name for Middle Earth, and hung her head slightly. “Not much, unfortunately, but I would love to learn everything. I look around-” she turned and gestured to the magnificent view, illuminated by tiny lamps along the way, glittering like stars. “-And I see so much beauty and  _ life _ . This is more of a home than I’ve ever had.”

He heard her wistfulness, her sincerity, and though she couldn’t see him from the way she gazed through his home, Thranduil’s gaze had softened, pale eyes tender as they rested on her awe-filled features. “What was your home like?” He’d asked before, but knew there were things she hadn’t told him. Still, her eyes narrowed slightly as she turned back to him. “I thought I was getting to know you.” - “And your original stance was that we would know each other. I wish to know what your life was like before my soldiers found you, before you were so crudely taken by orcs.” His expression had sobered, as did hers, but she could see he was genuinely curious and told him. She lived alone, her only friend half a world away, and the two sent messages on what she called a computer, baffling him. She explained it, then remarked on her writing and how she was attending a schooling called ‘college’, aiming to become an investigator to stop the spread of crimes in her land. “Have you always wanted to do such a thing?” - “Hm? Oh, well… I know I’ve always wanted to help people. When I was a child, I either wanted to be what you call a healer, I know as a doctor, or I wanted to tend to animals that were wounded or sick. Now… I feel more that… I should be protecting others.”

It was admirable, hearing the conviction in how she spoke, and Thranduil leaned more to her request to have him train her. “What made you change your mind from one to the other?” Sara bit her lip, searching those striking blue eyes, trying to think past the stuttering of her heart. “If I can’t protect myself, then… the least I can do is try to protect others from the same.” His eyebrows knit together, noting she was vulnerable again, and he was reminded of her dreams and the memories she’d suffered. His expression was one of compassion, understanding, his hand unconsciously reaching for her before he’d caught it, opting to refill his own wine instead. She was never protected unless it was her father that had protected her, but after his death, she was left to defend herself. “Then my next question is obvious- if you were to find a way home, would you go? If your oath was never in question.” She immediately shook her head, taking another drink. “No. The more I think on it, the more this place feels like home, my lord. It started as my promise, but then I find I can help keep this place safe, that I have some value here… this is my home now, because you gave it to me.”

There it was again. His heart stuttered to the point of aching, and Thranduil hurriedly drank his wine, filling his glass once again. She had some kind of effect on him. It had to be some sort of spell, though she didn’t appear to conduct any magic beyond healing that fox. Sara remained vulnerable in front of him, as though she trusted him. “Then you know so long as you never defy me, the Wood will remain your home.” She bit her lip and nodded, her expression a little brighter. “Of course, my King. I’ve kept it in mind since you gave me shelter… even if I did misspeak a few times, which… I still really want to apologize for, by the way.” 

“Why now?” 

“Because… I should have remembered that you’ve probably seen and been through things I can’t even begin to understand, and I spoke without thinking, and for that, I… well, it’s the same as I’ve said before. I deserved the time in the dungeons then.” It was as though she’d meant every word. Thranduil couldn’t detect a single lie, it had been as she’d told him before, but finding that she was one who wouldn’t lie to him… he smiled, softly. “What’s passed is past, Aranel. You seem truly remorseful for your actions. Let us move on, shall we?”

She nodded, her eyebrows knit in concentration. What to ask that wouldn’t give away how she felt about him… definitely not the gems. That would ruin the little moment between them. “How did you and my father meet?” He chuckled, quietly, staring into his glass. “It was over seventy years ago. We’d fought in a small battle that never even lasted the week, with he and I charging the front lines. I’ve never seen an elf fight like your father does- he frightens the orcs.” Sara laughed outright, giggling and covering her mouth as she almost doubled over. Her father scared orcs! But the Elvenking was listening to her laughter as if it were a sweet melody that sought to enrapture him, and he felt guilty, taking pleasure in knowing he’d caused such a lovely sound. “That sounds like my father! It’s still just… I can’t believe he’s alive.” There was still a small grin on her features, but the king had become curious. “Do you wish you could have left with him? After I gave the order forbidding you from leaving.” Sara took a sip of wine as she thought, and Thranduil could see her conflict. “A little, but… not for the reason you think, my King. It would have been because he’s my father and I want to make him happy, but I know I’m safer here, that your entire kingdom goes unseen while I remain and… if I leave, traces of my presence will still be here and that sets thousands in danger. I love my father, but I will not endanger anyone’s life like that. So, if he hadn’t acted like he did, then… I would have no regrets.”

Which meant if her father had accepted her insistence to stay, she wouldn’t have even the slightest want to go. “But the necklace surely speaks that he’s no longer upset with you?” 

“It does, so I feel a lot better. I can do more here than I can there.” 

“Then you should know your father has done an excellent job in raising you, Aranel. You seem to know your priorities and stick to them.” She gave him a soft, timid smile, tucking her head down. “Thank you, my King.” The two spoke a little more, the topic turning toward other races- dwarves, Men, Hobbits, the king curious on her opinion of them all. She remained mistrustful of the dwarves, but more so of Men, and from what he’d heard, he understood why. Sara only wanted to know what kind of life he lived before he’d become king, wondering what kind of poetry was in the world, what was the music like, or the different types of food, remaining in awe as he told her his encounters. As the topic began to dwindle, he felt a greed of his own snaking up his spine. He didn’t want her to go back to her chambers for the night- or ever, a darker part of him wished. “I think that will be all for the night. You’ve proven to be excellent company, and I would enjoy being able to do this again.” 

Her features filled with wonder, and he saw a timid smile creeping along her lips. That shyness, that look, just…  _ her _ . She was maddening him again. Sara tilted her hazel eyes to his pale blue as they stood, escorting her to the door. “Really? I… thank you, my King. That’s the most relaxed I’ve been in a long time.” She wavered while drunk, and Thranduil escorted her to her chambers, ensuring she didn’t fall. When they reached her door, she discarded her shawl, hanging it over her chair. Her scars were half visible, and even intoxicated, she rubbed her hand over them as if to hide them from him. “You’re no less of a princess with those scars, Aranel. In time, if you still wish to keep them concealed, your glamour will grow stronger.” The kindness in his words struck a chord in Sara, and before the king could leave her room, she timidly tugged the sleeve of his robes. She was ready to cry from the kindness he’d given her. Seeing her bloodshot eyes, the elvenking was visibly perplexed, but then her arms were around him. His eyes widened, his breath sharp. “Aranel-” 

“I know this isn’t proper, but thank you. Thank you so much for protecting me from those attacks and… and for healing my arm when it got burned by the iron. I can’t even say it properly, but… for everything, thank you.” 

It was as if he had no idea how to respond or react, but slowly, his arms draped around her, apprehensively running his fingers through her hair and cradling her head, the ache in his heart paramount as she held to him. The more he felt his heart slam, the more it hurt, but he remained gentle with her, the temptation to remain there almost more than he could withstand. He still remained at a loss for words. “You’re possessing of much more value than you know, much more than you will ever give yourself.” She tilted her head up, her startling eyes only intensifying the rampant beating of his heart, and he guided her to the bed, helping her lay down. “Rest, Aranel. Try not to think on things and let yourself sleep.” She sniffed, wiping her cheeks and nodded, curling around a pillow. “G-Goodnight, my King.” She was asleep before he could reply, her form so small and vulnerable in the oversized bed, hugging the pillow as if it could provide more comfort. Thranduil stayed a little longer, sitting beside her as she slept and ran his fingers over her features. “ _ Cin gildin cuil in nin, liach tinu. _ ” 

She left his heart aching terribly for things he hadn’t had, nor felt, in centuries, and he couldn’t help the agonizing wish to… be closer to her, somehow. Thranduil had just enough space, and lay down beside her, curling his arm around her stomach and held her against his chest. He breathed in the flowers that radiated from her hair, his other hand stroking the delicate, tender skin of her neck. By all the Valar, what he wouldn’t give to just let the loneliness abate, even for a small time. Grieving his wife still, missing the tender touch and believing he was betraying her memory, he breathed shakily, but even then, couldn’t find it in himself to let Sara go. She couldn’t leave, the loss would be one more thing that sent him to the Lands of the Undying. While he remembered her promise to stay, her connection to his kingdom, it still didn’t sate the worry that she too would disappear as his wife had, that he would never see nor feel another moment’s tenderness in eternity. Thranduil did no more than hold her, laying there for hours as Sara slept and watched over her, his heart warring with his mind.

When he finally released her, he saw how she shivered and drew the blanket up over her shoulders, his own heavy with the burden of the betrayal he’d committed, as well as the uncertainty of what was to come. She was too frightened of him as it started, it was mere drink that provoked her friendliness, and though she was kind, the elvenking didn’t believe the girl felt anything more for him than a pure gratefulness to be alive. He wasn’t aware that the attention she sought was his, only that there was someone her eye lay on. It wasn’t his son, that much he knew. He left for his own chambers, the cool air sobering him slightly. It had to be the drink that weakened him so much. He wasn’t falling for the princess, a  _ half-breed _ . He couldn’t have been. Yet the conflict remained strong, even as he lay his head down to rest. 


	18. Chapter 18

Another two months within the kingdom of the Greenwood, and Sara shivered against the biting chill. Winter had settled in the kingdom. She was still no closer to understanding her memories, of how she was becoming less human, the thoughts distracting her as she persisted in multiple areas of training. From the glamours to combat, she wanted to excel wherever she could. Her host, the Great Elvenking, had remembered her eagerness to learn and added more to her daily duties- including singing. Sara hated singing in front of people, her voice always rose with her anxiety and it would drift into nothing, or she would squeak. “Are you refusing?” Thranduil quirked his eyebrow, as if daring her to challenge him. He was so different from when they were drinking that night… colder. Again, he was colder, and she couldn’t understand. With a shaking sigh, the girl shook her head. “N-No, my King. I just… wish to… I would like to sing by myself. Crowds… I…” She couldn’t even articulate herself properly, her fingers twisting in front of her. He wouldn’t budge. “Some way or another, you will learn the art of singing, it ties in with music, and you were adamant on learning, if I recall correctly.”

Her breaths were short, panicked at the idea of having to sing, but she nodded anyway, trying to quell her anxiety. “Y-Yes, my King.” 

“Aranel.” Sara turned her worried gaze to his analyzing one, waiting for some remark that would be as cold as he’d been lately. As frozen as the ground beneath their feet. Even the fox that she healed, while it came around often, couldn’t assuage her fear of singing. “Would teaching yourself in private better suit you?” He… what? He was willing to let her teach herself, alone? “If… if you’ll allow it, my lord.” 

“Then that is what shall happen. There is a book in the library with a few songs that you can learn, as you’re speaking Sindarin almost fluently.” She had just finished another attempt at a glamour, and she knew the king’s prompt of singing was not only to have her learn, but to see if she could hold the illusion when other events occurred. The glamour wavered, broke briefly, but she erected it once more, earning a brief nod of approval. 

“You may go.” Swallowing, she made her exit, eyes lowered and unable to see the conflict in her king’s eyes, his lips parted to call her back and apologize. His mind drifted to the night she’d embraced him, when she’d been drunk, but her shoulders shook with her stifled cries as she thanked him for taking care of her, for protecting her, as if she felt she didn’t deserve it. Thranduil’s heart ached, remembering the way she fit perfectly in his arms, as if she were meant to be there, driving himself mad with wanting to feel her again. Yet he still missed his wife, internally swearing at himself to keep the cold, passive mask against the princess and continue with his life. 

She’d done as he said, however, and took the book from his library, setting it in her chambers before changing her clothes, set on training with Tauriel. The time was drawing near for another symbol to be removed, leaving her to wonder, as cold as Thranduil had been the last couple of months, would he even be there? Frustrated, she finished dressing herself and huffed, flopping on the bed briefly. What was with him? One moment, he was a compassionate, understanding king, even nice when he chose, but mostly… mostly, he’d become cold toward her, seemingly without provocation. Did he not mean what he said, that there was a chance of them becoming friends? Disheartened, she made her way to the training grounds, finding Tauriel was waiting. “There you are,” she smiled brightly, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “What do you feel like learning today?” Sara sighed, still frustrated. “Surprise me.” 

The elven captain was confused, tilting her head with her eyebrows knit together. “What’s troubling you,  _ mellon _ ? You seem out of sorts again.” She’d been with the elves for months, maybe even a year, but she still couldn’t shake her love for the king, nor could she hide a thing from her best friend. “This stays between us,” Sara pleaded softly, hazel eyes conflicted. “Please.” 

“Of course. Here, this way, out of earshot of the others.” The redhead led her to a clearing where no one else was, taking a fighter’s stance that the smaller elf mimicked. “Well, you know how His Majesty says I’m his guest?” Tauriel began the assault, and Sara dodged, blocking and countering her moves. “What of it?”  _ Smack!  _ The leather of their armor had clashed, smacking together audibly. “There’s… something else. He’s… he’s guarded me against those attacks I told you about.” Sara swung her elbow and it connected with the redhead’s shoulder, the elf stunned about the confession. 

“He-  _ what _ ? Aranel, you’re serious?” The princess paused, making sure her friend was okay. “Yeah… He speaks in ancient Elvish and kind of… well…” She was stalling, forgetting to block her friend’s attack and fell on her backside with a grunt. “Kind of, what?” 

“His arms go around and he like… keeps me close to him, and… then there’s this light. This bright light about like a full moon, and it pushes all the darkness away and makes it where I’m not being attacked.” Tauriel was mystified, shaking her head several times as if to make sense of what she’d been told. “But… that’s just because I made a promise, right? To stay and protect the Greenwood?” 

“Aranel… you should know by now that His Majesty has yet to do anything that doesn’t benefit him. What you say sounds impossible. An act of kindness? I know you swore an oath and your loyalty, but… he’s a cold elf.” A hollowing ache nestled in Sara’s chest, and they picked up where they’d left off, dodging and blocking. The half-elf’s speed was improving greatly. “It’s true, though, I swear it! Tauriel, I’ve never lied to you-” 

“Oh, that, I’m well aware of. But I also know there’s things you haven’t told me yet. I assumed you would when you were ready.” 

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”  _ Block. Counter. Sidestep. Attack.  _ “Then what troubles you?”  _ Missed block, successful counter, trip.  _ “I… My heart… I’m…” Tauriel stopped entirely, seeing her friend’s anguish and brought her even further away from any potential listeners. “Aranel… you… you’ve fallen in love with His Majesty?” Sara couldn’t stifle the sob as she nodded, the redhead hugging her fiercely. “I’ve been feeling this way almost since day one of being here. He scared me then, but I couldn’t help it. And every day, it just grows stronger and stronger. It’s consuming me… but I can’t… I can’t let him know. I don’t want to be banished. And I don’t understand- one minute, he’s understanding, even kind, the next… it’s like I disgust him or I’m not even there. And I’ve tried… I’ve tried looking elsewhere, but… my heart won’t… it refuses to turn away. I know what he’s lost and I know how much he hurts, I feel it like it’s my agony to bear, but I can’t move past my… my love for him.” Tauriel embraced her tighter, holding the back of her head as she sobbed. “And I hate myself for this… I have nothing to give, I just…”

Too many words to be said, yet nothing could properly convey how Thranduil held her so completely, yet broke her all the same. “I… do not know what to say,  _ mellon _ . It has been almost a year, which is fleeting compared to our immortality, but you’re still adapting.” Sara sniffed and hiccupped, nodding. Either way, she was tied to the kingdom by blood and made an oath to stay. Even her bleeding heart couldn’t sway her from the promise she’d made. “And you would continue to agonize yourself?” She nodded again, swallowing thickly. “I… I can’t explain it. The… the times he protected me from the attacks, I… I’ve never felt so safe before. Safe, and… even wanted…” Her shoulders shook, the two stopping the training briefly while she collected herself. “But… Tauriel,  _ please _ … please don’t let this slip. I can’t… I couldn’t bear with being banished. Even if… even though he’ll never see me the way I see him, I can at least love him from a distance.” 

“His Majesty does not know love, my friend, I do not know what would make him see it.” 

Sara knew better. Tauriel hadn’t known Thranduil long, or had known about his life, but the half-elf knew he’d known the deepest form of love and had lost it, brutally. His heart was wounded beyond compare… and she only wanted to help him heal. While she didn’t remark on it, the two resumed their training, working their way back to the training grounds and switched to bows. By the time evening had come upon them, Sara was sweating, aching and weary in more ways than one. She was expecting the king to summon her again to join him in the hall for supper, but… no invitation came. Instead, her meal was brought to her chambers, a small bird that had been roasted with varying fresh vegetables. It hurt, feeling as if somehow, she’d been rejected in some form, unable to understand why Thranduil had shunned her. She didn’t know he hadn’t been in the hall either, unable to think about food as his mind drifted between her and his late wife. Distance was easier, cold was easier. The less he was around her, the better off he would be, they both would. 

She didn’t eat. Her mind ran away with the worst possible scenarios, that her banishment would happen, that Tauriel had said something, or he was through playing pretend with her. Silent tears fell, the darkness more encroaching than before, and Sara tried to think of anything that would stop her broken heart. Nothing came. She gave into a fitful sleep, reliving her unlocked memories from being held captive by Sauron, tossing and turning as she refused to submit. He’d forced his lips on hers, some kind of magic making her a virgin again, and felt the orcs’ tongs pulling at her wings and searing her skin. It felt too real, the scars over her chest burning furiously, her bones broken over and over again, drawing screams from her. She couldn’t wake, locked in the hold of the insidious dark lord that sought to use her, probably kill her, and her screams persisted, echoing in the kingdom’s halls. 

The guards by her door had burst in, watched as she thrashed, screaming for something to stop, calling for help, tears swimming down her cheeks rapidly. More guards heard and they too had entered, the sight leaving them scrambling. The screams were reverberating against the stone, finding their way to the king’s chambers and making his blood freeze. His nerves were seared, bolting from his room and found her as the guards had, covered in sweat and tears, unable to wake. Her cries were interrupted by choking, as if she couldn’t breathe, that something was strangling her. “ _ All of you, out this instant!”  _ He snapped at them, each one startling from the harsh command but did as they were told, shutting the door behind them. She was reliving her torture, it didn’t take much to figure that out, but Thranduil scooped Sara in his arms, murmuring the familiar dialect of protection, uttering a simple spell, exerting his will for her to wake. She came to with a start, flinching violently from the king, meeting his conflicted blue eyes with absolute terror. 

“What’s happening to me?” Her voice broke, covering her face with her hands. She’d begun to squirm to get out of his hold, apologizing every breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t mean to wake you or… or cause a problem, I…” 

“Aranel, shhh… just breathe, just breathe.” She stopped squirming, her breaths hitched and turned against his chest, her small frame wracking against his larger one. “You were just dreaming,” he assured, his chest constricted. “That’s all. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe in my halls, you’re home.” She nodded, unable to shake the tears for some time, but the elvenking remained. Finally, she’d gone silent, only brief hiccups leaving her and as the king leaned back to see if she was all right, he had discovered she was asleep once again, her fingers twisted in his robes. 

He held her for awhile, ensuring she remained asleep, brushing his fingers through her hair as his guilt rose, his ever-vigilant conflict. All he had done was given in to the selfish need, the gluttonous desire to protect her. While remembering his wife, aching for her touch terribly, he felt for certain that the half-elf in his arms had her eyes set on another. It didn’t matter in that moment, not just then. As Thranduil lay her against the soft mattress, his eyes drifted over her sleeping face. “How strange that you can make mere months feel like centuries and yet, no time at all has truly passed.” He sighed heavily and left, distancing himself from her, reminding himself of the jewels in the mountain, and the word of a dwarven company seeking to take what was rightfully his. Thranduil focused on his need for those, millennia of experience aiding in pushing the faerie from his mind. The familiar sensation of cold settled in place, his mask stronger, and he swore he wouldn’t give in so easily again.

* * *

The more the kingdom delved into winter, the colder it became, Sara had bundled up more, thankful in some ways but despising the cold. She was able to cover her scars, but she felt bulky, grateful she still went to train each day. Another month had passed since her nightmare, and since then, she was no longer being taught by the king, but rather others instead. In fact, Sara rarely saw Thranduil, even in passing. Gandalf still hadn’t come, but then she remembered that things tend to happen when people least expect, and would wait for the next symbol’s removal during whenever he and Lady Galadriel were able. Tauriel and Legolas were on patrols more often, leaving her alone most days, and the girl confined herself to her chambers. Thranduil had to have known her secret- that’s why he wouldn’t go near her, it had to be. She probably disgusted him to an unending degree. 

Swallowing her pride, she left her chambers, spotting the king just a distance away. Her heart ached painfully, but she went the opposite direction, colliding with a guard and landing on her backside. “Oh!” 

“By all the Valar, are you all right, miss?” Sara turned her gaze up, spotting a beautiful pair of green eyes, deeper than Tauriel’s. He was a bit shorter than Thranduil, even with the armor, and offered his hand to help her. “Yeah, I… I’m okay!” She couldn’t figure out why her face colored beyond embarrassment, but this guard seemed… gentler than the others. There was also a dangerousness to him. Taking his hand, the guard brought her to her feet, grinning. Neither noticed the king had picked his head up from the book he’d been reading. “You’re sure you’re not harmed? Forgive me,  _ nin heryn _ , but I do not think I can justly ignore any potential injury.” She couldn’t contain her smile, becoming bashful almost in his presence. “N-No, I… I’m okay, really. Thank you, though.”

He smiled. The guard smiled, a dazzlingly charming grin that colored her features more. “Might I ask your name,  _ nin heryn _ ? I cannot go without knowing such a striking beauty.” 

“Ohh…” She hid in her hands, a squeak escaping, but the guard gently removed them from her face, curiosity alight in his emerald eyes. “M-My name is… is Sara, but… everyone calls me Aranel.” His gaze lit up in recognition. “The Princess of the Western Lands?” So he knew of her already… she shuffled shyly, but nodded. “That… that’s me. What’s your name?” The guard bowed to her, taking her hand and left a kiss on her knuckles. “Rillian, sweet princess. You may call me Rillian. Where are you headed, Princess? Perhaps I can escort you?” Sara’s smile grew softer, and she nodded. “Just to the training grounds, and you can if you want to.” The king, however, clenched his jaw upon seeing the guard’s hand drift to the small of her back, walking alongside the princess. Three times, that faceless guard had touched her, and each time, she allowed it to happen. 

Was that who her attention lay with? The way she grew demure with him, blushing and softly smiling, those large, hypnotizing hazel eyes glittering with innocence… his blood boiled. No longer able to concentrate on his book, he retired to his chambers delving into his wine as he tried to place just what magic she had over him, over every other elf in his guard, and why he couldn’t shake her from his mind. Neither of them had communicated telepathically since her father had been there, nor had he delved into her dreams. She needed some sense of privacy, after all. Downing an entire glass, he continued to pace in his attempt to figure out why things felt more complicated than they had to be. She was one girl, a half-breed, she held no sway over him. He continued to repeat the phrase over and over again.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few triggers within this chapter!!!! TREAD CAREFULLY

Rillian had been kind, even flirtatious with her, seemingly uncaring who saw as he bestowed kindness after kindness upon the princess. Sara knew he was a gorgeous elf, he drew several eyes, but he never acted as though he noticed, his attention solely on her. Despite the way he treated her, the girl’s heart still ached for the king, still wished she could see him or speak with him, even if he turned cold or uncaring toward her. More than once over the months where the ground remained frozen, Rillian would bring small gifts, switching his duties with a guard at her door so he could be closer to her. All too often, word began to spread that someone below her station sought her attention, and all too often, those words would always reach the king’s ear. He’d seen it, several instances, noting how the guard would distract her from looking in his direction. How long had it been since that first moment between them? It felt like only days, but Thranduil knew it was stretching toward three months. 

This guard often brought her flowers, Lissuin and Elanor blossoms, would even sit with her in the training grounds and braid her hair, tying the blooms into her obsidian tresses before stroking her cheek affectionately. When her head would shyly tuck downward, Rillian would kiss the top of her head, pulling her to rest against his chest as they would watch the sunset together. After escorting her to her chambers, he would resume the switched post at her door, occasionally peeking in as she slept. He was putting ideas into her head, and Thranduil had almost reached his limit. He swore he was a patient elf, and he had been, waiting for the princess to see sense and let the guard down, but not once had she even attempted it. She even initiated a few embraces. 

“Rillian, His Majesty wishes to see you in his chambers.” The guard was confused, turning back to Sara’s door. She was asleep, she had been for awhile, so she had to be safe. “Come on, Rillian, you and I both know he’s not a patient elf.” He and the princess had shared four sweet months together. Spring had come, she outshined the flowers and the stars in all their beauty, but yet… something seemed to plague her. Each time he would try for a kiss, she’d duck from him, insisting she wasn’t ready. He would settle and kiss her cheek or her hair, content to have her with him. So lost in thought over the princess that he’d barely registered being in the king’s chambers, standing straight as he wondered what His Majesty could want from him. “How long have you been serving me now, Rillian?” 

“A-A year, my lord.” Thranduil chuckled, stepping around an intricate pillar. “Not long at all then, though you’ve certainly settled in well.”

“Thank you, my lord. The guard has been very welcoming.” The king inclined his head, filling a glass of wine. Despite the aloof calm from His Majesty, something felt eerily ominous. “I would say it’s much more than the guard that’s been welcoming to you, wouldn’t you agree?” Rillian was careful to avoid the king’s penetrating stare, his eyes to the floor. “I do not know what you mean, my lord.” 

“I’m fairly certain you do, Rillian. You may have been too preoccupied to notice the rumors spreading like wildfire amidst dead trees, but you know of what I speak.” The guard remained confused, his eyebrows knit together. “The princess seems very fond of you.” Rillian lifted his gaze, briefly meeting the king’s steel, then turned his eyes once more. “Princess Aranel is a benevolent soul, my lord. I doubt she considers me more than a guard in your service.” 

Thranduil stilled for a moment. “I very much doubt that. I see the way you look at her, the way you hope she’ll look at you, but has yet to do so. You still continue to seek her out each day, eating meals with her and going so far as to leave flowers for her each morning.” The guard swallowed, shifting his weight. “Do not continue to put ideas in her mind of love and adventure when there are none to be had.” The king didn’t continue, and Rillian departed, taking his place back outside of Sara’s door. What gave the king the right to interfere in his affairs? Those were private, and how dare he try to command him in regards to the princess. She was no one’s to give away, especially not- was that it? Was the king jealous, possessive over the fair maiden? Why did he even care? He was never around the girl as it was, what did it matter? Rillian settled for it then, he would continue to see his little faerie in secret. 

* * *

All the while, Sara would shyly not refuse Rillian’s gentle advances, because they were no more than kindness on her behalf. She would never be rid of her love for Thranduil, she knew that, but she also believed her king wanted nothing to do with her, leaving her heart desperate and aching for a moment’s tenderness. She considered Rillian her friend, even though he left kisses over her face, and she felt horrible, knowing she would never see him as anything more. There were times he sought to bring his lips to hers, but she avoided them every time, insisting she wasn’t ready, hoping foolishly that Thranduil might… It was pointless, he wouldn’t so much as come around her anymore, it had been months since she heard his voice, let alone saw any sight of him through his halls. It was as though he was intentionally avoiding her. Yet, he was the king, and no one could sway him to see her, and she often had to remind herself that it wouldn’t have been proper- people would talk, especially if they thought there was something to talk about. There wasn’t, but most didn’t care. 

So while those months passed, Yule going by in a blur, she thought spending time with Rillian would ease the pain. Her heart only ached more, but she insisted to the elven guard that she was all right, just dealing with things. He assumed it was her still adjusting to her life as a princess, housed by King Thranduil, not having a clue that she was once human. He knew small things about her though. Her favorite color was green, the shade the forest turned in summer, her favorite flowers were sweet lilies and lotus blossoms, and he knew she was in love with the forest, her adoration of the woodland creatures endearing to anyone who saw. When she got excited over something, it was the equivalent of seeing the world anew, and Rillian couldn’t keep himself away from such radiant loveliness, regardless of what the king imposed on him. Sara remained unaware of Thranduil cornering the guard, ordering him to stay away from her, much like he had with the banished one.

Thankfully, her tutors assigned by the woodland king were kind, even giving her a day off before they would prepare her for the upcoming feast of Imbolc, announcing the coming of spring. She wasn’t sure how any calendar could associate the frigid cold to spring, but if that were the case, then her birthday was about to come upon her. In all her time with the woodland elves, she never thought once about the day, too caught up in everything around her. She still scarcely believed she was truly in Endor, oftentimes having to check over herself in a mirror to be sure, pinching herself to check if she was dreaming. Dressing in pants and a tunic, she slipped on her boots and grabbed her cloak, wanting to see the gardens and courtyard again. Thankfully, and though guilt plagued her at the thought, Rillian was asleep elsewhere, which meant she was able to have her solitude. She wanted to give herself the time to ache over what would never be without being asked so many questions.

Sara passed by several servants, each of them carrying something or another in preparation for the feast, directing each other which way to go, where to place things, most of them bowing their heads upon seeing her. “Princess.” She nodded in return, offering a small smile and a wave, then tucked her head down, finally reaching the courtyard. Guards were still on patrol, bowing to her as well, and she remained polite as she sought a private place, finally coming upon a stone bench that sat before a pond. Upon sitting on the bench, a pained sigh escaped, and the girl clutched her chest as she lowered her head. Gods… she missed him terribly, even when he was cold and callous, bringing herself to tears when she thought of how he’d protected her. The same questions would circulate through her head as she hugged herself, wondering what she’d done wrong, what could she do to fix it, calling herself a desperate fool to seek the attentions of someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with her. Not even as a friend. She knew she would drive herself mad if she continued, a knot growing in her throat as the ice glittered under the sun. Why couldn’t she fix whatever she’d done to upset him?

She’d been in the kingdom for what was nothing at all in terms of time to the elves, yet she was still adapting, still partially human and felt each second pass her by. She would never grow old, nor sicken, yet the unending heartbreak and loneliness she felt were unparalleled. Sara knew it was not only her pain that she had been suffering, but His Majesty’s as well, and realized no one knew she could feel his agony. What would happen if she tried to explain? She remained lost in thought, returning to her chambers and began to write in her journal, testing her Elvish and had even begun learning Khuzdul, the language of the dwarves. Soon she would learn to understand orcish, brutish though it was, but thankfully, that was kept to a minimum. As she wrote, her hazel eyes drifted toward the book of songs she’d been instructed to learn from Thranduil, yet never picked up. Singing scared her- in front of others, anyway. With a heavy breath, she set the quill aside and took the tome, flipping the pages until she reached one that was so wrenching, it wouldn’t leave her mind. As forlorn as she’d been lately, it felt fitting. Clearing her throat, she hummed it softly at first, then her voice began to grow, filling her chambers with a haunting melody.

Anyone passing could hear her, beginning with the guards that stood outside, but she never knew people would stop briefly, hang their heads in respect of the ones they’d lost, wiping their eyes as they believed her melodious voice conveyed millennia worth of anguish in one soul. Thranduil could hear her, the song echoing and reverberating off the stone in a way that struck his very being. Was that Sara? He quickly left his chambers, striding toward her room as he knew the song was at its end, the sound growing the nearer he was. He hadn’t heard a voice so pained in centuries, wondering what made her choose such a piece. There were others in the tome she’d taken from the library, but why that one? Even he felt his throat constrict, blinking rapidly to ignore the sting threatening to appear in his eyes. As she finished, he heard her inhale sharply, her exhale shaking. She was crying, and he understood why she’d selected the song. Tempted though he was to step within her chambers, he steadied himself and returned to his room.

He couldn’t breathe. Thinking of her took the air from his lungs. What in all of Endor… Thranduil cleared his throat, opting for another glass of wine and turned his mind toward the gems he sought, and of his late wife, of how those were hers, how they should have been. His thoughts briefly touched on the guard, Rillian, how the elf sought to earn the princess’s affections, earning little, but still receiving them. He’d given the order for him to desist, but informed the rest of his guard to be watchful of the elf and report back should they discover him disobeying. He didn’t need to wait long. A guard had stealthily knocked on his door, informing him of Rillian knocking at Sara’s with a bouquet of flowers, lilies and lissuin and elanor blossoms in a vibrant display before kissing her forehead and murmuring to her in Elvish of wanting them to have a moment alone. 

While she refused according to the guard, it did nothing to stave off the king’s growing temper. “Did she take the flowers?” 

“She did, my lord, but when Rillian invited her out for the evening, she declined.” 

“And her reason?” The guard bowed, his hands relaxed behind his back. “Princess Aranel insisted she had to rise early for her dance lessons for the upcoming feast, going on to say her tutor was strict about punctuality and she didn’t want to be in trouble.” Thranduil waved his hand, dismissing the guard. She took the flowers, but refused his invitation. The conflict returned, angry for her acceptance of the bouquet but satisfied at her refusal to spend an evening with the guard, and began pacing his chambers in languid strides. The fox she’d healed often spent its days in his room, and he spotted its vibrant fur against his blankets, sleeping away without a care in the world. Perhaps it was time to give her tutor a day off. 

* * *

Sara rose before sunrise the next morning, yawning as she searched for a gown that would cover her scars. She’d gotten more adept at hiding them while she continued to practice her glamour, but didn’t want to take the risk of some pitying glance or revulsion from anyone. As it was still winter, she’d chosen a blue gown, something the shade of midnight, sapphire, and ice, loosening her hair to let the waves fall behind her back before stepping from her room. Of course, Rillian had been waiting for her, another flower in hand. “You’re lovelier than the full moon during Yule,  _ nin alfirin _ , and my eyes truly do not deserve such a splendor.” Though color dusted over her nose, it was becoming hard to continue accepting his gifts. It felt wrong. Sara managed a soft smile, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You are too kind, Rillian. Thank you, it’s beautiful.” He took that moment to place the blossom just over her ear, displaying it proudly against the softness of her features. “Yet even so, it cannot compare to you.” The color darkened on her cheeks, her eyes closing as he placed another kiss on her forehead. 

Thankfully, he didn’t delay her, and she made it to the hall with plenty of time to spare before her tutor would arrive. Sara moved about the room, ensuring she had plenty of room in case the dances were more fast paced, or for anything waltz-related. “It’s been some time, Aranel.”  _ Thranduil _ . Inhaling shakily, the sound sharp, she almost lost her footing, hazel eyes worriedly scouring the room when she saw him. The crown resting upon his head was different this time, possessing what looked to be snow blossoms and unmelting ice, his robes a blue that almost matched her gown. He was really there. Quickly, she curtsied, her head low. “M-My King…” Her heart thundered against her ribs, deafening, and her breathless greeting was met with a subtle tilt of his head. “You’ve been busy the last few months, I’ve only seen you rarely, flitting through the halls.” She straightened, her fingers twisting before her and took a step back from him. “Y-Yes, my lord. I’ve… been trying to stave off the cold as much as I can.”

_ Tsk _ . 

She heard him click his tongue, the sound ominous, echoing off the stone. “Does that include fraternizing with those below your station?” Her eyes widened, mouth opening slightly in shock. Did he know about Rillian? Hurriedly, she plucked the flower from her hair, retreating a few more steps as he approached, his own steps languid as a confident predator. “I… have only sought friendship, my lord, that is all.” 

“And do friends give one another flowers each evening, or kisses upon their heads?” He  _ did  _ know… A whimper threatened to catch in her throat, taking another step back as she clenched the flower behind her, her eyes lowered. “I do not see Rillian that way, my lord, though he continues to give them to me.” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed on her, still advancing. “Yet you’re so eager for an embrace, accepting each and every token with a smile and a demure blush.” 

“Th-they’re just… just flowers, my King, I… I thought th-they were pretty.”

“Just flowers? You’ve been housed in my halls with access to my library, yet you insist they are just flowers? You know they’re tokens of affection, Aranel. Why do you persist in lying to me?” The whimper escaped and she took a few more steps back, noting his icy blue eyes were pale as snow in his malicious anger. Why was he so angry? Why couldn’t she talk to her friend? “Accepting tokens from those below your station is unacceptable,” he continued, his advance persisting as she felt the cold stone against her back. “Repeating oneself should be done with children, and you, Aranel, are no child. I have expressly told you to desist, to cease such actions with anyone lesser standing.” To anyone else, he would have sounded like an overbearing father, but his tone wasn’t parental in any sense of the word. It almost sounded like… jealousy. “H-He’s just a friend, m-my lord, I swear.” Thranduil was on her then, prying her hands from behind her back and ripped the flower away. Sara yelped in panic, her quaking visible. “Then it seems you’re in need of teaching of what friends are-  _ this- _ ” He held the flower before her, crushing it in his fist and threw it aside. “- is not the action of a friend, but someone wishing to be more.” 

She was pinned between him and the wall, and as he towered over her, she felt caged. Sara whimpered, her chest heaving and pushing hers against his, swallowing several times. It was obvious he didn’t want her talking with him anymore- he barely tolerated her speaking with Tauriel and Legolas. Who was she supposed to talk to? He was never around, was she supposed to talk to herself? “I… I understand,” she breathed, forcing herself not to cry.  _ Be careful what you wish for _ . “I-I-I’ll stop speaking w-with him.” Thranduil hummed, his cold gaze critical as he looked over her and took a step back. “Very well. At least you still retain some sense. Step forward, your lesson has begun.” As though he’d taken the air from the room, Sara wavered, hand over her chest, eyes widening. He… how long had he known? How could she even  _ think  _ about dancing with him after he’d cornered her? Still, her heart remained the one to guide her, and she did as he said, stepping forward when his arm circled her waist. Startled, she jumped, searching those eyes that made her heart threaten to stop. 

“Your hand should mimic mine,” Thranduil took the hand closest to him, wrapping it around his back and rested at his hip. Sara’s face colored horribly- he frightened her to no end, yet feeling the perfect, taut muscle beneath his robes made her mind delve to the carnal side. “And place your free hand up, just between the two of us.” She swallowed, but did as he said, his own hand just in front of hers, an inch apart. “You’re attending the feast of faeries, and the entire kingdom knows of your lineage. You should hold your head high.” A sound stuck in her throat as he moved with her, feeling his fingers run along her hip and the bone, squeezing when they needed to turn- and the dance held a lot of turns. “You’re afraid… tell me, does the guard know you do not reciprocate his affections?” 

“I…” 

“It’s plain to see your heart aches for another, Aranel, and the guard is truly blind to not notice your withdrawn demeanor.” Yet… the king noticed. He hadn’t been around her in almost six months, yet he saw it, the way she didn’t return Rillian’s affections.

“I… want to tell him, my King, I just… do not wish to inflict suffering and I’ve had trouble finding the right words.” Thranduil scoffed briefly, squeezing her hip to prompt her to turn again. “Just tell him, Aranel, you’ve no need for pretense.” It was easy for him, he’d had thousands of years to perfect such a bluntness, yet Sara still feared hurting others and hung her head. “I… I can try, my King.” The baritone of his voice was the melody her heart had been missing, and it threatened to sing along each time he spoke to her, regardless of how he’d advanced on her earlier. “See to it that you do so swiftly, he seems to think there is hope, as he’s grown quite fond of you.” She nodded, her breath hitched, her eyebrows knitting together. “You don’t seem to take my words as truth.” 

“O-Oh, no… that… I… I believe you, my King, it’s just…” She shook her head. “It’s not important, my lord.” 

“No, go on. What is it?” With a heavy sigh, and him turning her again, she bit the inside of her cheek. “I’ve never… thought I was… good enough, for anything of that sort. That’s all.” 

Thranduil was disbelieving then, watching her face as a disheartened expression fell over it. Most were content enough in their appearances, but seeing her become disgusted with herself only reminded him of the healer’s words. “You’re able to conceal the scars, Aranel.” But her breath was sharp, turning her bloodshot eyes toward his clear blue. “It’s not just the scars… it’s me.” He was confused, wondering what could have sparked such self-loathing, unaware he had caused a mere portion of it. “Explain it to me, then.” She swallowed, willing herself to stop shaking and nodded. “Remember… remember my first memory, how… how I come from another world and I was human?” When he nodded, she continued, surprised by the undivided attention he was giving her. “Well, there were… I don’t even know how to explain it, but… the arts, where I come from? They always enforce the belief that no one will ever be as good as those who possess money or are malnourished, and they will always… gods, I’m trying to think of how to explain this because everything is so different… they always sought to make everyone miserable about themselves, no matter how hard they strived to achieve for more.” 

“And that is why…” 

“That’s why I can’t stand myself. I’m not comfortable in my own skin like everyone here is, and I admire and envy that so much… it’s been ingrained to me since I was a little girl and…” 

“Aranel.” She sniffed, her breaths shuddering. Somehow, the king never had to try, but she found herself confessing her worst demons to him.  _ Love will do that to a person… _ “You have an eternity to become more at ease with yourself.” She choked on a small laugh, her face turning pink. “It’s… it’s stupid, I know it’s pointless, I… I’m sorry for just… confessing things that way.” There was the kind, compassionate understanding that addicted her so soon, made her forget all the bad things he’d said or the cold way he’d been toward her, and he finished their dance with more grace than she knew she was capable of herself. “You were being honest, no one can ask you for anything less. The feast, however, will ask more dancing of you.” 

He released her, and she felt cold once more, remembering the way each lithe muscle flexed and moved as he kept his arm around her. Sara cleared her throat and nodded, waiting for his direction. She wasn’t aware that Thranduil himself struggled with letting her go, even though she remained just before him, nor was she aware that he had felt an ache of his own for her. Not pity, but the selfish desire to take her in his arms and shield her from whatever horrors had plagued her in the world she had come from. Another thought had plagued his mind- what if the gateway was still there, still open? Anyone’s mind could change, and she would probably want to go back, regardless of how things befell her. He couldn’t… she couldn’t go back. 

Her dance lessons went on for over half the day, and even though nothing much had been spoken between them since the first, Sara felt oddly lighter than she had in months, as if she could smile again. Thranduil felt as though he could breathe with her near, and she was a quick learner in his presence. When the lessons finished, he dismissed her, calling as she began to leave. “I expect you to attend supper this evening, Aranel.” She curtsied and inclined her head. “Y-Yes, of course, my King. And… thank you for the lesson.” She was gone then, and the elvenking once again felt his chest constrict, cutting the air from his lungs. He was losing the battle, unsure if he could have really won anyway, watching her form ascend the pathways until she reached her chambers. What could he really do? She never expressed even a hint of where her affections, if any, had lay with anyone in his halls. He supposed he could offer the idea of a marriage to solidify an alliance with her fa- no. No, by all the Valar, that was ludicrous. 

Evening had come, the guards changing their positions for the shift, and Sara stood before her mirror, attempting to fix her hair which had grown a lot longer since she’d been there. She had no idea what magic that was, but no longer was it to her shoulder blades, but reaching the lower half of her back in loose waves that could have been from spending her time at sea, softer than she’d ever had it before. She hummed as she got ready for supper, almost excited at the prospect of dining with the king once again.  _ Stop that! It’s one time, and things will probably go back to how they were, with him just as cold and uncaring as before… But I love him… I need to see him again, even if I can’t say anything.  _ She needed to be careful- acting differently would surely cause people to whisper through the halls. Whispers that would no doubt reach King Thranduil and probably result in her banishment. 

Satisfied that her hair would rest in place, she returned to her journal, reading over various books in different Elven dialects of the various histories across Middle Earth, taking notes on her favorite pieces, usually regarding the elves, and would become enraptured in the tales. So lost in one particular story that she barely heard the knocking on her door. When she answered, Rillian was there, his demeanor erratic. “Rillian? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Then she remembered what the king told her, her word that she would cut things off. “Better now that I’m able to see you,” he murmured, leaning close to kiss her forehead. On instinct, she leaned back, hearing someone shift as if removing themselves from the area. “You’re sure? You seem troubled.” Emerald eyes focused on her hazel. “Actually, there’s… something I wish to speak with you about. May I come in?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, instead allowing himself entry and began to pace. “What do you think about seeing all of Endor?” Something was wrong. A nagging feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she watched the guard, her steps nearing the door. “Maybe… maybe one day, but I’ve made an oath to His Majesty, I can’t-” 

“But you  _ can _ , that’s just it, Sara! You can come and go as you choose, you’re a princess! Hurry, pack a bag and come with me.” He’d come up to her so fast she barely had time to blink, shaking her head. “No, Rillian. I promised my king that I would stay and not even my father could talk me out of it. I… I’ll see Middle Earth one day, but-” He’d taken her arm, pulling her from the door. “Come with me, Aranel,” there was a desperation in him, as if he were hurrying to pull her from the halls. Sara shook her head, and Rillian paused momentarily. “I’m scaring you. I… I apologize,  _ Meleth nîn _ , that was untoward of me.” She swallowed thickly, pulling her arm away, but he wouldn’t release her. “Allow me to apologize for my actions?” Her breath caught, worriedly searching his emeralds and he almost kissed her. She pushed against his chest. “Rillian! I told you I’m not ready! You can’t force me to-” 

Rillian pulled her to him, roughly, then shoved her back on the bed. What was wrong with him? She didn’t know he was desperate to show the king that he didn’t own everyone in his kingdom, that others could make their own decisions. A small shriek left the princess before he pinned her to the bed, still seeking the kiss she wouldn’t give. “I said no! Let… let me go!” Sara hadn’t known that the shifting she heard earlier was a guard that had departed to inform Thranduil of Rillian’s actions, unaware the king himself was approaching her door, entirely outraged. “Rillian, s-stop! I said no!” Her door flew open, banging loudly against the stone and startling her. It didn’t deter the guard, who had changed from aiming for her lips to dragging his own across her throat. Her skin crawled, a strangled cry of disgust leaving her when she heard a sword unsheath, the tip resting at Rillian’s throat. “Remove yourself from her,  _ hu ugaun _ .”  _ Thranduil!  _

Sara had never heard the king so deadly calm, but despite his voice remaining as such, his eyes bore a fury she’d never encountered, praising whoever was listening that the rage in his eyes wasn’t directed at her. Rillian straightened, retreating from her and the bed as the king’s sword remained at his throat. She scrambled, pushing herself from the mattress and struggled to contain her breathing, the panicked, short bursts that made her head spin. She was at the elvenking’s feet when he stepped around her, advancing on the guard. Would Thranduil actually kill him? “Legolas,” he called over his shoulder, rigid though they were, his eyes barely resting on her. “Take her to my chambers, stay there with her. Do  _ not  _ let another soul within unless it’s me.” Sara felt a hand on her arm, turning her eyes upward. Legolas looked as angry as his father as he helped her to stand. “Come, Princess, it would be best if you didn’t witness this.” She didn’t need to be told again, remaining in step with the elven prince and the king turned his focus back to Rillian.

“Only a true simpleton would mistake the orders of a king as jest,” He growled, lip curled in a snarl. “You were instructed not to fill her mind with outlandish fantasies and what have you done? You think she wishes for even the sight of you now? I do not tolerate disobedience from  _ any _ of those under my employ, yet you would assume the notion of forcing a princess beneath you.” 

“What would you know,  _ my lord _ , when you’ve never felt the soothing touch of a woman at your fingertips?” Thranduil felt his blood freeze, boiling simultaneously. The guard before him had no respect for anyone, as if he’d been raised no better than a- “You come from the land of Men, I remember you now. This realm is not your own,  _ filth _ , it is mine. All those within these halls are under my protection, the princess more so-” Without even having to gesture, another guard entered and forced Rillian to his knees, pulling his hair back and exposing his neck. “You know nothing of the wrath you have wrought upon yourself. Though, if your feet can carry you swiftly enough, you shall leave with your life.”

The guard never had a chance to shift, the king’s sword cutting clean through his neck, as though it were no more than melted butter. His body toppled to the floor, twitching as blood spurted over the stone. Thranduil placed a boot over the corpse and shoved against it, stilling it entirely as the other guard remained holding Rillian’s head. “Take his corpse and throw it to the wolves, far from the sight of the halls. And send someone to clean this- the princess cannot sleep with gore littering her chambers.” The guard moved silently, another entering and removing Rillian’s body from view, taking it from the room as the king shook the blood from his blade, resheathing his weapon and strode toward his room, hearing his son attempt to calm the girl. 

While he dealt with Rillian, Legolas had brought Sara to sit on one of Thranduil’s wicker benches, bringing her a glass of wine to help calm her nerves. She shook terribly, sipping the drink, but couldn’t look the prince in the eye. “Aranel… how did this happen?” She turned her hazel to the eyes of the prince, her lip quivering. “I… I should have listened to your father months ago,” her voice broke and she took a larger drink. “H-He told me to… to cut it off, but I didn’t… I didn’t know…” The prince sat beside her, rubbing her back in slow arcs. “Rillian was a new recruit, he was raised in Rohan by a Human lord, claims he sought to be one with his people. None of us ever knew his family.” She whimpered, forcing herself to calm down and took another large drink. “Wh-why? What did I do…? I-I… he knew that… that I didn’t feel comfortable with affection, but… I-I should have told him it was because I-I don’t see him that way.” 

“This isn’t your fault, Aranel. You had no way of knowing what would come to pass, you cannot help your kind heart.” 

“But I should have! If I’d have just pushed him away from the beginning, none of this would have-” The door opened, Thranduil returning and looking over her shivering form before he refilled her glass. “He won’t trouble you anymore, Aranel.” A pit settled in her stomach and she bit her lip, closing her eyes briefly. “He… he’s dead.” Only a moment of silence was heard before the king replied. “He is. I warned him one moon past to desist his actions with you, but the air of defiance was strangling even then.” Sara couldn’t even muster any other emotion besides numbness. Someone she thought she could have been friends with had attacked her, now lying dead somewhere. “You will not return to your chambers immediately. The maids must clean it properly before you can be allowed inside.” While he was honest, she wondered exactly how Rillian had died, the smallest twinge of guilt nestling under her chest. “I… I understand, my lord. I… I do not think I’ll be sleeping much tonight anyway.”

The question remained then… where would she go? She still hadn’t eaten that evening, and the king had told her not to go in her own room for now. Even if she could, she didn’t want to be alone. “Legolas, run to the kitchens and have a servant prepare our plates. We will dine in here.” 

“Wh-what?” Her voice cracked, hazel meeting his pale blue, noticing patches of ice white yet remained. He was still angry. “The only way to the dining hall is past your chambers and I forbid you to see your room in such a state. We are to dine in here, that’s final.” She swallowed, but didn’t protest, sipping her drink a little more. The prince cast a worried expression to her, but she offered what she could of a nod. “I… I’ll be okay. Thank you, Your Highness.” When he left, she was alone with Thranduil, and hurriedly finished her glass, only to have the king refill it. “A guard told me he’d pushed himself into your room after you refused an affectionate gesture.” 

_ Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. _ Sara took in a sharp breath, hazel eyes bloodshot and set her glass aside, her face in her hands. “Y-You… you had him followed, my King?” She felt him move, then sit beside her, holding her glass out for her to take. “Things might have turned out differently had I not.” 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, taking her glass. “I should have listened to you.” Despite knowing he was right, Thranduil wished he hadn’t been in that moment. “You could not have known his intentions, Aranel. He was raised in the realm of Men, it was only natural he would act as such.” She took a careful drink, inclining her head. “Even in my world, that was all too common… people claiming to be something they’re not.” Her mind drifted to the state of her room, wondering how long it would take to clean, or if she could even face going back in there on her own. If Thranduil had said more on the matter, she didn’t hear, but when he stood, her eyebrows knit together. 

“I will have to inform your father-” 

“No!” Bewildered, the elvenking turned to face her, finding her eyes had widened in panic, her fingers over her lips. “I… f-forgive me, my king, but I beg you… do  _ not _ send a letter to my father telling him what happened.” His expression became confused, setting his wine aside. “You… you’ve known him for almost a century, but… I don’t think you know the protective and overbearing father he can be. He… he would storm here, alone or with a troop, and regardless of my oath, would tear me away from here without a second thought and blame everyone inside for not being better prepared. He… has a temper, my lord, and I… I know your kingdom is more than equipped, but… this is minor, please… please don’t tell him. I don’t want anyone’s blood on my hands.” He watched her for a moment as he contemplated her plea, his breath heavy. “You seem to weigh all sides before making a decision, yet surely when he knows the fate of-” Sara shook her head, worriedly searching those sterling eyes. “I… would rather not take that risk, sire. You’ve been an excellent king and host, and you’re one of my father’s closest friends, but he is too blinded by rage in those circumstances.” 

Thranduil filled his glass and took languid strides around his chambers. “He deserves to know, Aranel.” She inclined her head, taking another drink. “He does, but… things are still fresh. I would rather wait… then I can tell him myself.” 

“You give your word?” 

“Yes, my King. I promise to tell him when things have settled, you have my word.” He smirked. The elvenking knew she would uphold her oath, as she was still doing so to cloak his kingdom from dark forces. Any that would appear within his forests often became disoriented and confused, trailing in circles of their own before his patrols cut them down. He’d begun to step toward an unseen portion of his chambers then, and Sara wondered if she should take that as her cue to leave, but unsure due to the prince returning with their dinners. “Aranel, come to me, if you would.” As she stood, her vision wavered, the intoxicating wine potent against her conscious, but regained her bearings and followed the sound of his voice. “I  _ really  _ need a better tolerance to this stuff,” she murmured, her glass held against her chest. 

When she’d caught up with the king, she found herself overlooking a view that took her breath away. Sara audibly gasped, hazel eyes wide with wonder. She could see everything atop the trees, including The Lonely Mountain several miles away. “This is incredible! I’ve never seen anything so breathtaking- and the  _ stars _ !” She hadn’t seen he was watching her features shift between wonder and relief, his own tender as she admired the view. His own view was lovely in the moonlight, as if she were made of the starry night herself. “I’m assuming you like the view,” he teased, quirking his eyebrow. “Very much, my lord,” she nodded, taking another drink, wanting to step closer but saw the drop should she misstep. “M-May I… may I sit down here, my King? I just want to take it all in.” When he allowed her to, Sara took a seat next to one of the intricate pillars, her stare dreamy upon the stars, reflecting them as she began to smile. “You’ve settled in well during your stay,” he commented, joining her and sitting as well. “I’m pleased to see you not rethinking your decision.” 

She scoffed as she took a sip of wine. “Because of a few mishaps? Those happen anywhere, to anyone. You’ve opened your home to me, a stranger, and I’m grateful for the generosity you’ve given. There’s… honestly nowhere else I’d rather be. I always played in forests as a child- there were so many beautiful things just waiting to be discovered. It’s kind of hard to take that from anyone.” The two sat together in comfortable silence, watching the night sky before Sara shivered, feeling the cold seep through the alcohol. Thranduil stood, disappearing from view. “My King?” Setting her glass aside, she shifted to get up when he’d returned… with one of his cloaks, setting it over her shoulders. Color rose against her cheeks as the scent enveloped her, the familiar masculinity with cinnamon and apples, fitting for winter. “I-” 

“I suppose you’ve forgotten I enjoyed your company when we last shared a drink, and you appear to be enjoying the scenery. You should do so without suffering the cold.” A demure blush settled darker against her features and she pulled the cloak around her a little more, taking tender movements as to not snag the material.

Though it felt like silk, it was lined with a plush fur, blocking any cold that threatened to chill her. “Th-thank you, my King, you are truly a benevolent ruler.” Yet, despite the cloak, that wasn’t the only thing the woodland king bestowed upon her. Sara felt something weighty settle on her lap, glancing down to find an ornate, elven dagger in its sheath. She turned her confused gaze to Thranduil, holding the cold metal. It was a small blade, even for her, but it was lethal in its sharpness, as if it could split skin from a mere glance. “You’re not helpless, Aranel, but you’ve been caught off guard several times. That blade is small enough to conceal for your own protection.” 

“I… m-my lord, this… this is incredibly beautiful, but… are you sure I can accept this? You’ve given so much already-” 

“You can, and you will. Though you are under my protection, much like everyone else in my kingdom, I cannot always be there to save you.” 

Oddly enough, it almost resembled Bilbo’s blade, and the girl knew then it was made by the ancient elves. Careful not to spill her wine on his cloak, she tucked a lock of hair behind a pointed ear and examined the dagger. The sheath was a white metal, with elven swirls and engraved with some sort of charm, encased in a red, velvet-like material. The grip was similar, but the blade itself seemed to sparkle like the stars themselves, with more ancient elven engravings. “Oh…” So taken by the beauty of it that her eyes began to water, and she turned her teary gaze to Thranduil’s. “It… it’s so beautiful, my King… I will be sure to carry this, always… I’d hug you, but I don’t know if that’s proper or not.” A drunken admission as she felt the alcohol take effect, but the elvenking chuckled, sipping his wine still. “You must have truly been gone the last time then.” Sara almost choked- she  _ hugged  _ him before already?! Her eyes widened, bringing about more laughter before she covered her face in her hands, a tiny squeak escaping. “I… I don’t remember…” 

His laughter settled then, looking over the blade with her, his side touching hers. “It’s made from Mithril,” he went over it, unsheathing it, and laying it on his arm. “Perfectly balanced, as you’ll note, not too heavy on either end. I think it would serve you well as it did me.” Her lips parted in disbelief as he resheathed it and handed it to her, the girl almost hugging it to her chest. “It… it was yours? My lord, I-” 

“And now it is yours. It hasn’t seen use in centuries when it should.” The tears that welled in her eyes had fallen, and she covered her mouth, choking out a small laugh. He’d given her something of his, something to keep. He truly had no idea how much she would treasure it, even if he thought nothing of her. Maybe he really was sincere in wanting to be friends. “And here I didn’t get you anything.” Thranduil snorted, the sound so unlike him that Sara began to giggle. “You keep my lands cloaked from the darkness threatening to consume it. No king can ask more than that.” Her smile was soft, setting the blade on her lap and returned to sipping her own glass, hearing Legolas and a servant return. “ _ Ada _ ? Aranel?” He found them, overlooking the kingdom and sitting beside one another, bringing confusion to his features. 

Thranduil stood then, casually as if nothing odd had taken place and offered his hand to Sara. She gathered her new blade, the wine, his cloak over her shoulders as she stood, then curtsied to thank him. “Supper has been brought up. Is everything all right?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She envied how entirely at ease the king sounded. “I’ve given her my old dagger for her to protect herself. Speaking of, Legolas, she will need more training so nothing that has transpired tonight has as much chance to happen again.” Legolas inclined his head as the servant placed their plates at a table, and Sara set her things aside to return the king’s cloak, though she desperately wanted to remain wrapped in its warmth, it smelled like him and brought her more comfort than anything had that night. Upon picking up the blade once more, she saw something odd against the sheath, something silvery that didn’t go with the thing at all. A silver coin. Unsure as to what that meant, she decided to tuck it in her gown temporarily, meaning to search the library when she was able. 

Dinner was oddly informal, sharing with the king and the prince, each of them sitting at the circular table. The wine bottle remained in the center as, once again, Sara sat on Thranduil’s left. Yet there seemed to be no pretense. It felt… comfortable. Though she picked through the hot meal and took delicate bites, feeling more exposed with it being only three of them. “It’s understandable if your appetite isn’t there, Aranel,” Legolas offered, his voice gentle. A small smile settled on her features, her other hand twisting in her skirts. “O-Oh, thank you, but… if I don’t try to eat, I’ll probably regret it later. I have to have something in my stomach.” He was being kind, nothing more, and while she was grateful, her eyes remained on her plate, unaware of just how the king gazed over her, then to his son. The prince then began to speak of Tauriel and how well she fights when they’re out on patrols, earning a grin from the faerie. “She’s been a wonderful teacher whenever she trains me,” she spoke kindly of the redhead. “She’s a great friend too, especially when it comes to working with some of the newer bows.”

Legolas chuckled, nodding before taking a bite of his meal. “Those strings are still taut from lack of use, but she said you’ve shown promise.” She smiled brightly, perking up considerably. “A-Actually, that reminds me… since… Since my lord has said something about more training, I was wondering how soon I can start?” He thought for a moment, his mouth quirking to the side briefly. “How about tomorrow afternoon?” 

“O-Oh, only if… only if it doesn’t interrupt patrols. I couldn’t ask anyone to-” 

“We aren’t due for another patrol for a few days, unless  _ Ada  _ says otherwise.” Sara’s hazel were timid as she searched Thranduil’s gaze, biting her lip as she held the silent plea. “Would it… would it be okay, my King? I… I don’t want to remain defenseless.” The king inclined his head, refilling his glass. “By all means, but Aranel… you’re aware your training will be intensive. Are you prepared for it?” She nodded quickly, remembering the first time he tried to train her. “Yes, my lord, absolutely.” 

Dinner drew to a close, and not long after, a servant knocked, informing them that her chambers were acceptable to sleep in once again. Sara swallowed audibly, the sound not going unnoticed by the king nor Legolas. “Prepare one of the guest rooms until the princess feels secure enough in sleeping in her own quarters again.” She bit her lip as the servant bowed, leaving to prepare a room, and wrapped her arms around herself. She would have to sleep alone. Again. Dread coiled within her chest, placing a pit in her stomach, but she steadied herself. She needed to put on a brave face- she was sick and tired of the damsel in distress bullshit. It was nice being protected by the king, she adored every part of it, but she didn’t want to be worthless. “Th-thank you, my King, but… shouldn’t I try to at least-” 

“Perhaps tomorrow. It is far too late tonight to mull over those things.” She exhaled quietly and nodded, sure to pick up the blade given to her and thumbed over it as the servant escorted her to a room that was closer to Thranduil’s. Was that intentional? Sensing her unease, the servant bowed and offered a kind smile. “No one would dare make a move this close to His Majesty’s quarters, Princess. It is perfectly safe.” 

She managed a timid smile and nodded once more. “Thank you, really. I know you work hard and I appreciate it.” With another smile and a bow, the servant opened the door, revealing a room that held the beauty of the stars, with an open view and a roaring fireplace carved from stone. Why couldn’t this room have been hers from the start? It was phenomenal! Yet, as the servant departed upon believing she was all right, the paranoia began to rise that somehow, Rillian was still alive, that he’d find her- or that someone would do what he could not. She thumbed over the blade again, feeling the coin still against it. Her eyebrows knit together, but knowing she wouldn’t sleep for awhile, decided to check the library for any information on a coin with a blade. Once there, she took a few books from the shelves and found a sizable armchair, one deep enough to hold two of her, sitting beside a crackling fireplace and nestled herself in the cushions. 

_ “...It is often thought that bestowing a blade as a gift is an ill omen. While ill-conceived, most, when giving such a gift, often leave a coin to dispel the superstition. The superstition is no more than believing the blade is a symbol that ties will be severed between giver and recipient, as where the coin wishes prosperity and eliminates the fear…”  _ Huh… Thoughts circled in her mind, wondering if he’d meant for her to have it, giving her the blade. He must have, but then… he’d moved far too fast for her to see him attach the coin. Did that mean he’d intended to give the blade to her for some time? Was it preplanned? Thranduil wanted to give her that for some time now? Hope threatened to bloom within her, she couldn’t even stop the giddy smile, despite silently swearing at herself that it meant nothing, just a means of protecting herself. Then he probably already knew what would happen… each thought conflicted more and more with the last, frustrating her and confusing her until she’d fallen asleep, curled in the chair, the blade resting between her and the cushion as the book lay over her stomach. 

Thranduil found himself going through another restless night after his son and Aranel departed from his chambers, woken from nightmares of past battles, but more so, the fate of his late wife. He remembered cradling her body, her eyes blankly staring at the sky, having been dealt wounds that not even a healer could mend. Wiping his eyes, he felt over the dragon-fire scars along his cheek and sighed, his glamour returning along with his shame and agony. It had been centuries since then, yet each moment remained unbearable. To clear his mind, he’d begun to drift through his halls, contemplating his best method to retrieve those gems. The dragon lived, there was no way- he would never see them, no matter how hard he wished. He’d passed by the guest room Aranel was meant to stay in, but upon passing, her door was opened, with her nowhere to be seen. The blankets hadn’t even been altered. His chest began to constrict, unable to breathe as panic began to set within him. Thranduil’s steps became quicker, searching various unoccupied rooms but remained unable to find her. 

“Where are you…” he murmured, pale blue eyes scrambling to find a trace of her, much as he thought where she would go. “Aranel… don’t be gone… by all the Valar, please don’t be gone…” He hadn’t even realized he said it, entering every possible location of where she’d visited within the year of her stay. After hours of searching, the sky barely lighting, he’d come to the library, his entrance almost rushed despite his composure. He found her. Curled in a ball in a chair so much larger than her, he found her with a book on her stomach and cradling the blade in her hands. Relief settled over him, almost taking the air from his lungs as quick as it had come, and he leaned against a pillar to contain himself. Her features remained obscured by her obsidian waves, and when he reached to remove it, to see her sleeping face, hadn’t noticed the slight tremble of his fingers. She was at peace, her chest rising and falling and a small squeak escaped as she partially stretched, her leg hanging over the arm. A gentle smile quirked at his lips. “Aranel,” he whispered, not wishing to startle her. “Aranel, wake up, you’re in the library.”

“I like books…” She hadn’t woken, but rather responded to him as she remained asleep. It became difficult to stifle his laughter, but Thranduil managed, his shoulders shaking as he watched her. Seeing as she wouldn’t wake immediately, or at all in that moment, he gently removed the book from her stomach, reading over a paragraph. She wanted to know why the coin was placed with the blade he’d given her. He shook his head, setting the tome aside. He’d intended to give her that since the warning he’d given Rillian, the defiance in the guard’s eye alluding to what would come. Though he could only guess at the former elf’s intentions, he wished he had been wrong, rage filling him as he remembered the terror on the princess’s face when he blew the door open. She fought, but Rillian had evaded every swipe of her legs, pinning her arms as he tried to… unable to finish the thought, the elvenking focused once more on her sleeping face, taking in the merciful air that had finally returned to him. As she held the blade, shifting to where her hands folded over it on her chest, Thranduil eased his arms under her, lifting her and straightened. He had reached the library door when she sighed, her head on his shoulder as her eyes barely opened. “Where…?”

“Rest, Aranel. I’m simply taking you to a more comfortable space.” Sara nuzzled against him then, her face at his neck as an arm went over his shoulder, another sigh leaving her. “...mmkay… best king…” He couldn’t stifle his smile. Her words, while sleeping, stirred something tender in the king, and he unconsciously cradled her closer to his chest, stepping into his chambers. He lay her on the sofa, realizing she was dwarfed in the thing, then set her blade on the floor beside her sleeping frame before retrieving his cloak once more, laying it over her. Immediately, her resting face bore a happy smile, and she nuzzled into the cloak. “...pretty…” He was tempted to remain there, to listen to what other things she might say in her sleeping state, but before he could move, the fox had hopped from his bed and on the sofa, beside her legs and curling into a ball with its head on her knee. He was brought to reality then, shaking his head and went to his study, careful not to wake her.

By the time she’d woken the next morning, almost afternoon, her first realization was that the room wasn’t her own, nor was it the guest room prepared for her. Upon waking a little more, the surroundings became familiar. She was in Thranduil’s chambers. Color rose swiftly against her face and she began to hide, bringing -his  _ cloak _ ?!- over her features. She was there, in the king’s bedroom, covered by his cloak- where was the blade? As her breathing quickened, something fiery orange bounded to her face, barking excitedly and began licking her to no end. The fox! “Wha-! Ohh, it’s  _ you _ ! I wondered where you ran off to. Getting all cozy, huh?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” Her eyes widened as her eyebrows drastically rose, her mouth falling open and finding the king himself was watching her with an amused smirk. “M-My King? How…” Pushing himself from the pillar he was leaning against, his amused expression remained. “Imagine my surprise when I drift through my library and find you fast asleep in one of the chairs. I’ll have to admit, that looked far from comfortable.” 

“O-Oh, I… I couldn’t sleep, and… and I wanted to read up on something.” 

“I’m well aware,” his tone was almost teasing, and she covered her face in her hands. “I tried rousing you, but you insisted, while sleeping, that you liked books.” Sara could have screamed- he’d called her out for talking in her sleep! A groan left her, but still, Thranduil continued his teasing. “And when I brought you from the library, you insisted I was the ‘best king’.” The scream was rising in her throat in her embarrassment, and had she seen the king, she would have seen his shoulders shaking with laughter. She had no idea that to him, the sight was entirely amusing and… if he were being honest, another endearing trait he’d come to welcome in his life. “I… I’m so sorry, my lord. I-I should have woken-” 

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Aranel, nothing to forgive. I had assumed you weren’t comfortable in the guest room and lay you on my sofa.” She peeked through her fingers, lowering them and they twisted in front of her. “I… I think it’s beautiful, I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it happening again.”

He’d thought as much, and the fox jumped from her side as she sat up, red bushy tail swishing happily as it bounced around the king. “If all goes well, it never will again. You have my word.” She’d been staring at his cloak as he spoke to her, and carefully uncovered herself, gathering it in her arms as she stood. “I… I don’t even know how to thank you, my King. You have my unending loyalty and gratitude for your benevolence.” She had no idea how to properly speak to him then, finding he’d carried her to his own room and had given her his cloak to stay warm. The hope in her heart had reignited to a blazing inferno, her love for him as strong as ever. What he’d done…  _ It’s only because his room was closest and he didn’t want to make the extra trip _ . But he could have had a guard carry her, and he didn’t. Was he really her friend? She tiptoed to him, returning his cloak and curtsied low, the color on her cheeks deepening as her mind ran wild. The anxiety would swiftly follow, knowing at some point, he would become cold again. 

As Sara cleared her throat, straightening her hair and gathered the blade from him, she’d begun to leave when he called behind her. “Be ready for your training today, Aranel.” 

“Y-Yes, my King.” She left then, grateful no servant saw her lest someone start talking, and hurriedly went to change for weapons training. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara is preparing for the feast of Imbolc. Sass is had, and a little dancing. Short chapter, mostly light-hearted things!

The king hadn’t lied, her weapons training was brutal, leaving her sore, stiff, and oftentimes bruised with scrapes along various parts of herself. It went over the period of a week, combined with her lessons for the Imbolc feast, until the event actually came upon them. Elves from all over the kingdom were in attendance, and Thranduil had finally received word that Mithrandir, Lady Galadriel, and Lord Elrond were returning to help her remove another symbol from her mind. Sara was both relieved and terrified- wanting the symbols gone but dreading the memories each one would unlock. She had nightmares almost every night, but none as brutal as the one she endured months ago, only to find out the servants had been kind enough to leave particular herbs on her plate that would promote restful slumber. Was that… did Thranduil have that done? She supposed it was only fair, so she wouldn’t wake anyone else within his halls, unaware that she’d been screaming until he cradled her and murmured that she was safe. 

The day of the start of the feast, she was being pushed and prodded and poked by various seamstresses and servants, wanting to make  _ her  _ the embodiment of the coming spring, all due to her faerie lineage. She cast a pleading glance to both Legolas and Tauriel, the two snickering behind their hands. “You two have left me to the wolves!” She cried out in mock offense, seeing Tauriel open her mouth to protest. “Wolves, I say! At this rate, I’m a pincushion with a smartass reflex.” 

“Something the matter, Aranel?” An outright yelp was heard from the princess, covering her mouth upon hearing the king enter the room. Her outburst sent her friends into fits of laughter, both of them rolling on the floor, darkening her blush. “N-No, my King… just… just talking…” He quirked his eyebrow, departing from the room with his shoulders shaking. Even His Majesty was laughing at her outburst. “Betrayed by my own mouth,” she groaned, shaking her head. “All right, just get me fitted please. The less I’m in a gown, the better. I’d be much more excited to be fitted for my own armor.”

Legolas and Tauriel both shared a silent conversation, earning a squint from the princess. “What are you two planning?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the prince replied, but the mischievous grin in his gaze said otherwise. “Uh huh, and my ass isn’t as big as a brick oven.” 

“PRINCESS!” 

“Ohhh…” As she covered her face in embarrassment, her friends were once again in peals of laughter, but Legolas was pushed out by the seamstress. Sara knew he only looked at her as a friend, but it was a propriety thing, leaving her with the woman adjusting the fabric from her gown, and Tauriel. The fabric was a plush silk that felt as sinful as oily water, cascading over every inch of her in hues of sage, emerald, and hunter green, and a sheer fabric overlaying it that was otherwise invisible, save for the silver and gold leaves stitched within, giving her the appearance of a walking flower. Thankfully, the dress was tied at the neck, covering her scars entirely, though her shoulders were revealed and all the glimmering swirls of her hidden wings. 

Her crown had been given new additions as well, vines and flowers added to give her an even more spring-like appearance. The antlers at the focal point possessed the smallest blossoms she’d ever seen, yet were imbued with a potent fragrance. “Tauriel…” Sara whined, head falling back as her wavy tresses drifted past her backside. The redhead snickered and approached, looking over the princess in the mirror. “Oh, don’t involve me in this. You know as well as I how a noble elf of status should present herself at these feasts.” The princess huffed, then shuffled awkwardly. “Besides, you put them all to shame. You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Gods… how often had she heard  _ that _ ? She sighed, knowing the argument if she protested, but gave herself an unamused glance in the mirror. “Still… all those eyes, I just… I’m actually hoping Gandalf and Lady Galadriel get here  _ before  _ I have to make an appearance.” Tauriel snorted and shook her head, patting her friend’s arm. “You will be wonderful, I have no doubt about that.”

“Yeah, and all those people expecting a graceful faerie are about to find I’m a klutz in silk.” They continued, and the seamstress worked with various remarks of praise- that her skin would be radiant during the feast, that she would turn the eye of everyone in attendance, yet… the more she continued, the more anxious Sara became. When she had finished, maids set to work on the princess’s hair and briefly dusted something over her features, making it as though her skin possessed some kind of luminescence. She was left alone then, told she would be summoned when it was time, and once everyone had gone, tucked her blade from Thranduil at her thigh, unseen beneath the skirts of her custom-made gown. She swallowed the knot in her throat. It looked so expensive, and it fit like a dream… it didn’t seem right that she wore something so beautiful. “Princess, it’s time.” A servant called for her, and she assumed the king was already attending to the guests, welcoming them, and her hands twisted in front of her. Her crown was on, the vines and flowers curling along her hair, and the shoes were graciously comfortable as she was led through the halls before being presented.

“His Majesty’s guest, Princess of the Western Lands, Aranel Vanyalanthiriel.”  _ Fuck _ . The doors opened, and mostly, Sara kept her gaze to the floor, trying to ignore the stares as she entered the room. Several had gone silent, pointing to the shimmering on her shoulders. “... _ those are where her wings rest… _ ” Elves of every status cleared the way for her to sit at the king’s table, the girl so nervous she didn’t see the way Thranduil had stood, pale blue roaming over her in entirety. She was a spring night, filled with an unearthly beauty that reminded him of true breathlessness, her skin shimmering like the stars of the sky. She had become spring in essence, he could even catch the floral scent from her as she neared, leaving everyone with a demure smile and thanking them for their kindness. By the time her hazel had met his electric blue, she was unsure what was wrong as he gazed at her, thinking she’d done something wrong. Yet his air of self-assurance never wavered. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t attend,” he inclined his head, a servant pulling out a seat for her. “The dress covers your scars quite well.” The last remark was a whisper, not drawing attention, and she bit her lip. “I… I didn’t want to offend you, my King. And… it’s not as bad as last time. I… guess it just takes getting used to.”

“This is only the second feast you’ve attended within my halls, I would think you’re adapting quite well.” Her smile, though shy, was filled with appreciation, and she began to relax more, inclining her head when people would bow or curtsey to her, thankful she wasn’t approached for a dance. Yet, as luck couldn’t have always been with her, it was the king himself who stood and offered his hand. She didn’t have the option of refusing. Sara timidly slipped her fingers in his, and he could feel her trembling as he led her to the center of the floor. A dance to welcome the coming spring. She danced as she’d been taught, keeping her eyes on only Thranduil as to block out the stares of others. “Your movement is off from your last lesson,” he murmured when he was close enough. “I have the blade,” she replied in a whisper. “I didn’t want to take any chances.” He smirked, inclining his head. “You’re learning well.” She swallowed, thankful that the dance was over and curtsied when needed. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another symbol is removed, bringing forth another vision. This may be triggering for some

Gandalf, Lady Galadriel, and Lord Elrond arrived on the third day of the feast, but by then, people had begun drinking when the sun rose, making Sara grateful that her absence would barely be noticed. The problem remained, however, that His Majesty wouldn’t be able to watch over her as he was a prominent figure who needed to be seen, as their custom dictated. “Are you confident enough to continue, Aranel?” Elrond wondered, guiding her to the guest room. They’d already been informed of what had passed with the guard, and she nodded with a breathless half-smile. “As… as much as I’ll ever be, Lord Elrond.” 

“We would have been here months ago, but something unexpected turned up,” Gandalf began placing things around the room, stronger efforts to guard her since His Majesty had to do other things. Yet Sara noticed how he looked at her with knowing eyes. “What was it…?” 

“Oh,” he began to chuckle, confusing her more. “It’s probably nothing, but our order has been granted with a new wizard. She prefers to call herself a witch, however.” Still, the gleam in his gaze didn’t change. “A new wizard? What’s her name? What color?” _Anything to not focus on what is coming…_

“Ereala the Grey,” he replied, and she perked up, happy for him. “Another Grey? That’s good, right?” He laughed a little more as Lady Galadriel took a spot on the bed, waving Sara to join her. Thankfully, she was in pants and a tunic, mercifully allowed by Thranduil since she would be in no condition to return to the feast. He seemed to know what would come before she did, but before she’d been called on, he asked for her crown. When she gave it to him, his thumb rested over the jewel in front, murmuring ancient Elvish for her protection. “If you’re able, wear this. I can do nothing more in light of the feast.” She curtsied, placing the crown over her head once more and her hand twitched with the overwhelming urge to touch him. “Thank you, my King.” She remained unaware that the idea of sending her back without a guaranteed source of safety bothered him in ways he couldn’t describe. Within the room, she took her crown, gripping it until her knuckles were bone white, joining Lady Galadriel. 

“What’s this…?” The Lady had taken her crown, giving her the same knowing expression that Gandalf had, before she heard her voice. _“He’s trying to protect you.”_

_“He… he said to wear it if I can since he has to attend the feast.”_

_“Then do so. He’s done well to protect you with the other two.”_ Sara swallowed, placing the crown on her head and when the Lady shifted, she lay back, her head on her lap like the time before. It was time for the third symbol to be taken from her. Elrond held one of her hands, Gandalf holding the other, and her eyes closed with a shaking exhale as Galadriel placed gentle fingers on her temples. 

Silence… everything was silent save for the rhythmic breathing of those around her and herself, her focus shifting to various memories and whirls that made themselves visible in her mind. She found the symbols, with Lady Galadriel standing before them, her eyes patient as they’ve always been. Sara chose the next in line, the symbol resembling an infernal tower that an eye could see through. _“Is this one okay?”_

 _“Whichever one you choose is fine, Aranel. They will only affect what order the memories return to you.”_ Another heavy swallow, and she nodded, feeling as though the eye within the tower could penetrate within her very soul. It started the same, much like the last two, yet this one seemed to be inherently heavier than the last. Was it literal, or figurative, that she could feel it bearing down on her mind? Sara noticed Lady Galadriel seemed to be exerting more effort as she pushed against the symbol, only mere fragments breaking free and disintegrating instead of the chunks and pieces before. 

She knew the Lady couldn’t break it all on her own, whether instinct guided her or being in their world long enough, but Sara took Galadriel’s hand, adding her power to the elven woman’s. Larger pieces began to break free, the eye repeating its shift from blood red to fierce orange, inflicting the same pain. Though focused, the faerie hissed from the burns she felt, though none were physically inflicted on her, and she began to hear screaming, roaring, the sounds of war, raids, invasions, both innocent and guilty alike tearing each other apart as piece after piece began to waver and explode. “Focus, Princess, she is stronger with your aid.” Sara could hear Lord Elrond as tears pricked her eyes, the girl panting furiously as she pushed to get the rest of the monstrosity out of her head. A fragment had broken free, launching itself at them offensively, and Sara saw it had drifted toward Lady Galadriel. Not wanting the elven woman to get hurt, the faerie pushed her aside, taking the brunt of the hit, crying out in the waking world. 

It was as though the piece sought to implant roots within her, burning and searing against her skin. Her cries began to grow, her grip tightening against Gandalf and Elrond as it seemed to eat her alive. Lights of blinding white and ice blue radiated around her, the fragment screeching and removing what seemed to be hooks in her flesh. In the waking world, her stomach began to bleed, with Lord Elrond placing his palm over the wounds, healing her with the ancient Elvish dialect. Sara closed her eyes against the blinding lights around her, hearing the Lady Galadriel call her own power to rebuke the assault. It wasn’t the same voice, distorted and deep with unimaginable power, but the piece had been taken from the princess, earning another sharp cry. Sara had felt something soothing her, hearing another voice. Thranduil’s voice. In the waking world, he remained at the feast, but the gem in her crown began to glow, giving off a calming green aura as it enveloped her. The piece was gone, yet more remained. 

“Stop, pull them out Gandalf,” Lord Elrond hissed.

“I cannot- it would mean the symbol has a chance of restoring itself, endangering the both of them.” 

_“Aranel… open your eyes… the piece is destroyed, but more remain. We must finish it.”_ The Lady’s voice had returned to its normal, soothing state, and within her mind, the princess’s eyes had opened, her chest heaving with gasping breaths. _“I… I’m ready.”_ She rejoined the elven woman, taking her hand and repeating every ancient Elvish spell spoken, cracking the remaining pieces. Wind blew around them, a vortex that sought to silence them, but their voices had grown, shouting as more and more departed from her mind, disintegrating into nothing. Finally, it was gone, the protection from the king effective beyond reasoning, her stomach wounds healed by Lord Elrond. Before she could marvel at the way it had been taken, Sara was pulled under from another memory.

Darkness. Impenetrable darkness, and the princess’s breathing became shallow, rapid, as if to retain air from drowning before a torch was before her, blinding her. Covered with soot, she was dragged before Sauron once more, the dark lord towering over her, as if he remained her impending doom. “Welcome back, darling,” his voice was distorted yet melodious, and with a small breath, her head turned upward, finding he looked as he had before, an unearthly beauty falling to corruption. “It’s been awhile. I’ve missed you.” Had she not been so frightened, Sara might have spit at his feet. Sauron crouched, pulling her weakened form to sit and cradled her cheek, the gesture tender. Her skin crawled as her eyes closed, willing herself not to flinch away. She whimpered and he kissed her crown, lingering there for a moment before sighing wistfully, looking over her quaking form. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, four years in isolation… and your faerie magic continues to take your humanity. You’re becoming more elven every time I see you.” 

Confused, she opened her eyes, meeting his glowing orange when he smiled. “Oh, you didn’t know? Let me see that you’re bathed and dressed, then we can have a nice little discussion.” That smile set her nerves on fire, she felt for sure she would die, expecting a Necromancer or an orc to toss her into a vat of water, but instead, it was Sauron that lifted her, carrying her to somewhere involving stairs. Exhausted, her head fell backward, her entire figure going slack as if expecting some impending death, but he lay her on cold stone before stripping her. Adrenaline flared to life and she began to struggle, only for the elven lord to growl at her in Black Speech for her to remain still. A sob wrenched free, her entire form tense, but Sauron didn’t assault her like she’d been expecting. In fact, the gesture seemed… affectionate, as if he were mending a lover. The mere notion churned her stomach, though she had nothing to retch, her eyes clenched tight before she was submerged in warm water. 

Another whimper, yet it remained unclear if it had been relief or terror that stole the sound, a shaking cry escaping when he began to wet her hair. He was bathing her. Not once did he force any kind of carnal touch, merely cleaning the dirt and grime from her figure. “When you arrived, it was apparent of what you were. Half human, half faerie. Yet the faerie blood within you seeks to adapt to Endor, turning you into an elven maiden. The longer you remain, the more elven you will become. After ten short years, my love, you’re quarter elven, quarter human, and half fae. It’s fascinating, and your power is uncontested. Oh, my love, we will have this world kneeling before they dare open their eyes.” She didn’t speak, shivering as he took her arm, placing her palm up and his other hand positioned toward the wall. A blast of energy surged through her, disappearing instantly and frightened her to scream. 

“Fascinating,” he repeated, his voice a sense of hushed awe. Sara wearily cracked her eyes open, following his gaze. The entire wall had been engulfed in vines and flowers. Beautiful though it was, he twisted it, the blossoms radiating with poison in a visible green fog. “The things we’ll do together, my love.” She barely caught the glint in his eye, but it was there. In time, Sauron would kill her, but only after he’d taken what he wanted. After the bath, he carried her to a bedroom, one regal and gothic, varying hues of blacks, reds, and purples scattered about. He’d placed her on the bed, and it was as though something pushed her weight into the mattress, restraining her from fleeing. The elven lord returned with a garment of black silk and made quick work of dressing her. She struggled to rein in her cries, sobs threatening to break free as she saw herself in the mirror. Her face had grown hollow, her bones protruding at every joint, and the silk he’d wrapped her in looked no better than sheer material, her intimate places almost visible. Sara wrapped her arms around herself, shoulders trembling before he pulled her arms from her chest. “You will not hide yourself from me, princess, and I will look upon you whenever I choose.”

Before he left the room, leaving her on the bed, he turned his insidious amber eyes to her once more. “Trying to escape will mean certain death, _meleth,_ I would advise against it.” Sauron locked her inside, leaving her to weep, her screams muffled against the barrier he’d set over the room. 

* * *

Sara came to, wrenching herself from the memory and began to gag, turning over before Elrond brought a bowl, allowing her to retch the contents of her stomach. No one spoke, but she mercifully had her crown still on, feeling the gem radiate above her head. Her trembling fingers brushed over the gem to find it warm, seeing the light reflect dimly across her skin. “Ten years…” Lord Elrond murmured, keeping her hair from falling in her own vomit. “Held captive by Sauron as some sort of trinket in which he meant to kill once he had everything he needed from her.” Gandalf’s statement was matter-of-fact as he brought the princess a cup of water, the girl drinking it down greedily. “I… I didn’t imagine that look then?” Sara rasped, holding her throat. “No, you did not. I fear once he had what he needed from you, your demise would have been imminent. He was fascinated with and sought to leech your power into his own being.”

“Making you his bride was just a pretense for his true goal. After binding you to him, he would seek to consummate it, draining you of your ability. You would most likely perish soon after.” She shivered, her breaths short and almost panting as she sat up and willed herself not to throw up again. Sauron would have raped her to take away her powers. “Why… why didn’t he just do it while I was imprisoned?” Neither of them spoke for a time, until Lady Galadriel drifted around the bed. “Because you intrigued him. He was fascinated with watching how your faerie blood shifted your being to Elven, and wondered how long it would take until then.” Sara grimaced, her features contorted into disgust, but a question began to form. “H-How… how much have I turned elven since… since my stay with His Majesty?” Once again, Lady Galadriel neared her, holding out both hands as if to accept something. She wanted her hand. The princess gave it, and the elven woman turned her palm to face upward, closing her eyes briefly. She didn’t speak for some time, as if listening for something or to someone before she released the princess’s hand, her gaze gentle as ever. “That which was human in you will not last the year.” 

She had months left of her humanity, all that would remain after it had been changed by her faerie blood would be elven and fae, if her fae blood didn’t change itself as well. Something shook within her, as if an earthquake sought to crumble her to nothing but ruin, but the crown began to warm exponentially, its light blinding enough to force their eyes to close. Faintly, Sara heard a roar of outrage, but it disappeared as quick as it came, a whisper remaining. _“Those who guard you cannot do so forever, meleth. Before I claim you, I will ensure you watch everyone you love perish in unimaginable ways…”_ She gasped, drawing in a long breath as if she’d been strangled, choking as Gandalf brought her to sit again. “S-Sauron… he… he’s even angrier. H-He said… he said that he would kill everyone I love, th-that no one can protect me forever.” 

“Unfortunate though it may be, he is right. Not everyone can be there to safeguard you from his attacks.” Her hazel met Lord Elrond’s gaze and nodded quickly. “I… I know. That’s why I want to defend myself.” 

“Then we shall have to speak with Thranduil and inform him of what transpired.” She swallowed thickly, withdrawing on herself. She didn’t want the king to know that she’d almost been… assaulted by Sauron, but knew she had no choice. “O-Okay. E-Everything…?” 

“I’m afraid so, Princess,” even Gandalf sounded sympathetic on her behalf. He and Lord Elrond escorted Lady Galadriel to another guest room, then departed to inform the king of the symbol’s removal and the memories within, leaving her alone. With the door closed, she crawled on the bed, taking a pillow and brought it to her face, screaming in agonized torture with her tears falling freely. Each part of her felt grimier than the last, as if, despite her bathing, she would never be clean again. The gem in her crown continued to thrum, almost humming an ancient elven lullaby, and Sara felt herself calming after a period of muffled screams and cries. She fell into a fitful slumber as Elrond and Mithrandir delved below where the feast was ongoing, passing several guests in their approach of the woodland king. 

Thranduil, upon spotting them, took a sip of wine and quirked his eyebrow, ignoring the elven ladies that sought to earn his attention. One even sat at his feet. “If you’ve come, I can only assume that means impending destruction, or the symbol has yet to be removed.” He barely cast the crowd a glance, causing them to leave, giving the three privacy. “ _Mellon_ , the third symbol has been removed, adding more time to when the princess was imprisoned. She’d been held captive for at least a decade. We’ve yet to determine how she escaped.” The elvenking stood then, guiding them from the hall and to his chambers, the silence infinitely welcome to both Lord Elrond and Mithrandir. “What of her memories?” The two began to explain, taking turns as they told him of her imprisoned in what Sauron called the isolation chambers, then how he took her to a washroom, undressed and bathed her, earning the flex of the king’s jaw. 

“What more is there?” 

“Another of her gifts have been revealed. The princess seems quite adept at bringing new life to nature. Plants and the like can grow on her whim.” That was the only silver lining during their conversation, and once they continued, they made clear the way Sauron had dressed her, how he explicitly forbade her from covering herself in her almost nude state, and confined her within the room and left a barrier upon it. Though his expression betrayed nothing, Thranduil’s stomach sank, the breath leaving him once more as he wanted only to seek the princess out, to soothe her- _This isn’t happening_ , he hissed inwardly. It had become an annoyance to not have her in his presence. Even at the feast, as countless women almost threw themselves upon him, however subtly, the elvenking could barely stifle his disgust. Though they asked of his guest, he knew they were merely seeking more fuel to spread their worthless gossip. At least with Aranel, even with her timidity, she was far more bearable to be around. He’d been honest in telling her she was excellent company. 

“Blackened filth. He is like every other disease plaguing the lands, intent on destruction and will adamantly seek a new path once one has been removed from his grasp. It has always been as such, and will always be. Is there anything else that you’ve yet to inform me of?” 

“When she was taken from her own realm by Sauron’s forces, he’d admitted when she first arrived that she was only half human, and half faerie. She had no elven blood upon capture. Yet now she is half, and Lady Galadriel has seen that by the end of the year, Aranel will no longer have human blood. The fae within is turning her elven.” The king couldn’t contain his startled expression, his lips parting in speechlessness. “She had no elven blood upon entering the realm?” Both Lord Elrond and Mithrandir shook their heads to confirm. “Only a trace of human blood remains in her now, my friend, and we know nothing of the gateway that she was brought through. In all likelihood, it could be open, as another has been taken through.” 

“Another?” 

“A lady wizard, though she calls herself a witch. She is called Ereala the Grey.” Thranduil’s ice blue gaze turned to steel hearing Mithrandir speak, the pit sinking in his stomach. If the gate was open, Aranel could leave, and never return. “Is she like you then, Mithrandir?” The old wizard chuckled, reaching for his pipe. “Not so much, Thranduil, she has a ferocity that is often seen with younger ages.” 

“Then you should probably return to her to ensure she hasn’t set anything ablaze.” Their laughter was tense, each of them thinking of the princess’s well-being, but they departed shortly after, and the king was left to his thoughts. If she was Sauron’s pawn, or if he’d manipulated her in any way, then she remained adept at covering her tracks, but… too often he’d seen her vulnerable, and when she would drink, she was kind, even if a little mouthy, but even during her sleeping murmurs, nothing dictated that she was under any control. He wondered what kept her from breaking, and how she lost those memories to begin with. How long had she been wandering before his soldiers found her?

He was lost in thought, unaware he’d begun to pace, striding toward her new chambers, guards on either side of the door. Thranduil stepped inside, and it was then he realized he’d unconsciously went to her, finding her tossing and turning on the mattress. _“Nin dilthen gwilwileth…_ You’ve suffered horrors scarcely anyone has recovered from. Hold your strength, _dilthen tinu_ , you possess more than you are aware.” She whimpered, however, and as if on instinct, went to her side, sitting next to her sleeping form. She still wore her crown, the gem glowing faintly as she drifted through her nightmarish memories. Her small hand twitched and clenched beside her face, and the elvenking brushed his fingers over her palm, taking her small hand in his larger one. He rubbed small circles over the back, just observing as she slept, and as those touches continued, she settled, curling closer to whatever had settled her. “...don’t leave me…” Her words struck an odd chord within him, and Thranduil brushed his fingers through her hair. “You’re home, Aranel. Do not forget that, you are home.” 

The elvenking had the temptation to kiss her temple, to bring her some sort of peace, but his conflict prevented as much, and when she relaxed, his hand eased from hers, draping the blanket over her shoulders. Things were becoming far more complicated than they should have. He was careful not to wake her as he removed himself from the bed, returning to his chambers as he thought over what had been revealed to him. It would be another restless night.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elves don't celebrate birthdays, and the Elvenking finds the princess drinking in her chambers. Sara tests her ability to grow flora at whim, and Thranduil discovers her ability to acutely feel strong emotions from him.

A month had passed, and while Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel wished to see Sara in better spirits, they were needed back in Imladris, but Lord Elrond embraced the princess as a father would. “You sleep wearing the crown, I imagine?” She nodded, chewing her lip and shuffled awkwardly. “I… I do. His Majesty put a protection on it and… and it keeps away the nightmares, or… makes them easier to deal with.” He offered what he could of a reassuring grin, patting her cheek. “I should bring my daughter. I believe the two of you would have much in common.” Sara smiled that time, a more sincere one. To meet  _ the _ Lady Arwen would have been a dream. “Maybe… maybe one day. I know everyone has things to do.” With another grin, he’d departed, but not before Lady Galadriel spoke her piece.  _ “You remain unaware how tethered to the woodland king you truly are, Sara.”  _ She knew her birth name? Wait… what did she mean by that?  _ “What… what do you mean, my lady?”  _

“ _ Your magic isn’t solely tied to Eryn Galen, but rather Thranduil himself. While your blood is tethered to these lands, it also remains tied to him, and him alone. I assume your heart, your very breath, was already aware.”  _

Her heart stuttered as if confirming as much, and the Lady smiled knowingly, holding the side of her head.  _ “Does… does he know? How can I tell him? Will he be angry with me?”  _ Question after question left during their telepathic discussion, and the elven woman’s shoulders shook with graceful laughter.  _ “He is not presently aware, but he will be. And no, he will not be angry. He will come to find out quite soon, I imagine.”  _ On edge, Sara peeked around, finding that the elvenking was nowhere near them that she could see, and swallowed thickly as the Lady departed. Her birthday, and things had grown far more complicated than they should have been. No one knew it was her birthday, she’d never told a soul, yet as they all departed, she was left with a small, hollowing ache at being unable to celebrate, though she couldn’t find a single reason why anyone would want to celebrate something like that with her. 

Instead of mulling it over to the brink of sadness, Sara briefly went to the wine cellar, grabbing a bottle for herself and returned to her new chambers, thankful she still had her chalice for water. She started drinking then, staring out against the great wooded Eryn Galen, thinking of everything and nothing as the wine began to consume her sobriety. She was humming to herself, songs of where she came from and patting her leg for a beat when she heard a knock at her door. “Mm… c-come in…” She lay prone on the floor, staring at the intricately carved stone above, unaware Thranduil had entered. “Aranel, should there be a reason why you’ve been absent from your lessons? Your tutors-” When his icy blue landed on her, his eyebrows knit together, his jaw twitching. “What  _ are  _ you doing?” 

“Hmm?” Hazel eyes blearily opened, unable to focus but couldn’t mistake that head of silvery blonde hair for anyone else. “Oh! My King! Is… is my birthday, I just… wanted a day to celebrate, that’s all.” Her ‘s’s were slurred, giving away her intoxication. 

Her birthday? Thranduil knew she was still adapting to elven life, but not once had her birthday ever come up, not in any conversation. “Yet you’ve told no one about it.” While she lay on the floor, hair surrounding her like a darkened halo, he sat in one of her chairs, watching her with an amused expression. She groaned, hiding her face in her hands. The elvenking had never seen her so inebriated. “I didn’t tell anyone,” she finally managed. “A lot has happened and I don’t know the right… the proper etiquette with elven birthdays, my lord.” He couldn’t help chuckling, watching as she rolled herself to sit. “Elves do not celebrate birthdays, Aranel, though I know you’re still adapting to immortality from your old life.” 

“Mhmm!” She took another swallow of wine, straight from the bottle. “So… so  _ that’s  _ why I didn’t say anything. I’m still adjusting and I should adapt on my own, but… habits.” Though she aimed to push off her insecurities, the elvenking was no fool, he saw her vulnerability and had taken her cup, filling it with wine for himself. “And how were birthdays celebrated in your realm, the one with only humans?”

She’d sat up, taking the bottle with a brief sip and held it between her knees. “Depends. Children often got sweets and gifts, and adults were given wine, rum, whiskey, or something else to get them drunk, but rarely any presents. Speaking of!” She tapped her leg, then removed the dagger he’d given her from her thigh. “I still keep this with me. Best gift ever.” His laughter grew, watching as she wavered while merely sitting. Yet the king could see just how much she truly admired the gift. “Aranel, it is merely a blade-” She shook her head, getting to her knees before standing and wavered on her feet, then sat beside him. “You don’t… you don’t understand, my lord. This… I know it’s just to help me protect myself but… it’s more than anyone’s thought of me outside of my friend, so… thank you.” It was a rare moment between them, and though she was drunk, the elvenking enjoyed being around her. He only wondered what she would be like completely at ease without the help of drink. 

Thranduil took a sip of wine, his eyebrow quirked. She had to have known others to think of her well-being other than himself. Were the humans where she came from really so ignorant? “I wasn’t aware that giving a small blade would inspire such gratitude.” It had been a tease, Sara knew that, unable to stifle a giggle of her own and sighed. “Well, I’m grateful for lots of things, it’s just… the little things matter. Immortal or not, small gestures can make a big impact.” He knew that quite well, and she seemed to be one of the few to value small gestures. “Seldom few people often think that way, or believe others even remotely think in such a way.” People often thought that because he was the king, that he always aimed for grand gestures. In most cases, he did, yet he wasn’t sure what a truly touching but small gesture felt like- or maybe he did. Thranduil thought back to the embrace she’d given him, the way she thanked him for protecting her, and while her thanks had been predetermined, the embrace came as a surprise. No one dared just touch him unless he allowed it, but her… 

It was something he couldn’t explain. She was growing tired, he could see as much. “This is the time you get some rest, Aranel.” Sara groaned and rubbed her eyes, but nodded. “Yeah, I… the wine’s been helping with the nightmares too, so I suppose I should. Thank you, for… for stopping by, my lord. You didn’t have to, and I know us, as elves, don’t celebrate birthdays, but… it was nice. This will probably be the last time I actually have one, so… the company is appreciated.” There was a wistfulness in her gaze, reminding him of what Mithrandir had said. She wouldn’t be human outside of the year. “It… seems like an odd custom to me, but I am aware the humans celebrate yearly on the day they were born. Though, Aranel, something was brought to my attention earlier.” She bit her lip, but didn’t interrupt. “Mithrandir informed me the faerie blood is turning you entirely elven, that you won’t remain human outside of the year.” Another sigh left her, but again, she inclined her head. “That’s what I was told. It feels… different. I can feel things more acutely than I could before. Is that… is that bad, my King?” 

“I wouldn’t think so, Aranel, and you’ve even said you’re still adapting. Things will make sense with time.” She seemed to understand, and finally, the king left, but not before watching as she took her crown and placed it over her head, crawling on the mattress and without even bothering to tuck herself in, succumbed to the wine-induced slumber. Thranduil shook his head, a smirk on his features. “Happy birthday,  _ dilthen er. _ ”

* * *

Spring was invigorating in the forest. Sara was finally free of the dreaded chill of winter, spending most of her time outside to watch the plants sprout to life, budding with new blooms. The Greenwood remained sick, however, despite its extraordinary ability to cloak her, and she it. The patrols, now that the weather had warmed considerably, were at a constant, and she heard several talking about giant spiders, including Tauriel and Legolas. She’d gotten used to her time alone, but relished in the moments her friends returned so she could have someone to speak with. Word had spread of the guard’s attack on her, of how the situation had been handled, and she heard whispers of the cruelty of Men and their effect on the elves. She wanted to believe the best in everyone, but knew, unfortunately, that sometimes that wasn’t always true. Another day of thawing sunshine led her to a small clearing, still within the gates of the kingdom, and she saw how a few plants were struggling to push through the soil. She hadn’t had the chance to test if the memory was real, if she could bring life to the flora, and cleared a melting patch of snow where things began to sprout. 

She’d caught the attention of the guards, one of which shouted for her. “Princess, you’re too close to the border! Come away from there!” Sara huffed, craning her head to find the guard who’d called. “Just a minute! I’m testing something! You’re welcome to join me if it makes you feel better!” While the guard hadn’t joined her, he did inch closer, watching her with suspicion. She wasn’t going to flee, the forest was her home- Eryn Galen was her home. Unbeknownst to her, Thranduil had been out enjoying the weather as well when he’d heard the guard, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. Curious, he drifted closer, seeing Sara kneel in front of a cleared patch of snow, holding her hand above the soil. When Sauron forced her to reveal her ability, she was able to do so from a distance, but she wondered if he amplified it as well as twisted it. Just as she mulled over things, she felt warmth in her palm, a soothing incubator, and the sprout within the soil began to peek higher from its resting place. “What if I…” She placed both hands to the dirt, one on either side of the little bud, and it was as if someone hit fast-forward or gave some kind of instantaneous miracle grow, as it shot up, almost smacking her face. “Oh!” 

Sara fell backward, landing on her backside with a grunt, hands removing themselves from the ground before she saw her handiwork. Sitting before her,  _ because of her _ , was the biggest flower bud she had ever seen, roughly the size of her head and straining to open. She barely heard the guards murmur in wonder, never catching the king’s presence. While in awe, her fingers trembled as she got to her knees, bringing her hands to the unopened blossom. “It’s okay,” she spoke as if it were a frightened animal. “You’re safe here, just like me. Can I see you?” While the princess was still adapting to her life, even after a year, she still became excited over things most wouldn’t think of. The flower, as if it were alive, turned toward her and opened slowly, almost as if it were shy, and Sara was greeted by the most beautiful lily she’d ever seen in her life. The smell of it was heady and potent in its sweet aroma, the petals a red so deep, blood paled in comparison. It was almost black, but held a new color in the center the shade of ripened eggplant. “Ohhh… you’re beautiful! Guard, lookie!” 

She was so happy she squealed, clapping her hands together as if she were a small child, earning snickers from a few guards and the king himself. Sara got to her feet wiped off her knees, leaving a kiss on the petals of the newly bloomed lily. “You need friends so you’re not all by yourself,” she determined as a guard finally approached. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that before, Princess. So… you’re good with plants then, as well as animals?” The princess was on her knees again, scooping more snow away from her workspace and tilted her hazel to the guard’s grey. “I… I think so,” she pressed her palms to the soil, the familiar warmth leaving her and entered the ground, bringing forth new sprouts. “It’s all still really new to me, but… if I get the hang of it enough, I’m hoping I can heal the forest from the sickness it has.” She went silent for a moment, focused on her task and brought a cluster of lilies in the cleared patch of earth, each the same size but bore different colors. Ones as white as the snow around them, others were a vivid, ocean blue with flecks of amethyst, and a couple more of her crimson lilies before she finished, partially winded. She’d made an entire flowerbed. 

Thranduil, as well as the guards around to see, bore mystified expressions at her work. Not because she had the ability, but the size of the blossoms she called forth. The guard helped her stand before she dusted herself off again, escorting her closer to the halls. “But why so far away, Princess?” They had passed the king, who remained adept at being unseen if he wished, listening to the conversation. “Well… before… I remember being able to do it, but someone manipulated it and made them poisonous, toxic. I wanted to make sure it was just a manipulation and nothing was done to me to ruin my abilities, and… now it lets me know that I  _ can  _ help, just like I promised His Majesty.” Her remark earned a smile from both the guard and the elvenking, the latter still wishing to have her abilities strengthen and fortify his kingdom. When she had worked to bring new flowers, he could have sworn he saw her begin to illuminate, thinking her some divine being that had been sent for a reason, not just taken. Selfish it was, but Thranduil didn’t care, Sara would stay in Eryn Galen, and the satisfaction he felt with that realization was unparalleled. Perhaps he  _ could  _ get the gems he’d sought so fiercely, thoughts of his wife resurfacing and sparking another ache within him.

Sara hadn’t gotten far, still within range of the king’s vision, but the moment he’d felt the anguish and sadness from his wife’s memory, the princess cried out as if something had hurt her. “Princess? Princess, what is it?” She’d doubled over, falling to her knees as she clutched her chest, her face contorted into one of unimaginable grief. “I… It… it’s my heart… it-it feels like someone has taken everything from me and left me to deal with it on my own, but… but it’s not my pain… I-I don’t understand, I can’t explain it, but… it feels like mine, but I know it isn’t. I don’t…” Thranduil’s face betrayed everything he’d sought to mask, entirely shaken up, his mouth falling open partially. She was feeling  _ his  _ pain. She whirled to see if anyone was nearby, but he remained obscured from her vision, yet the elvenking saw tears streaming from her eyes, shoulders shaking as she fought a sob threatening to wrench free. The guard was baffled, unsettled, but helped her stand and guided her closer to the guest room she’d been placed in. 

She felt his pain. She felt his pain more acutely than he felt it himself, as if he saw her reliving the first moments he discovered his wife’s body. How was that even possible? He was unnerved, almost panicked, even felt a bit invaded, but… he would need to speak with her, regardless if his anger and worry threatened to flare in that instant. “Aranel.” Sara gasped, whirling and catching sight of the elvenking, hurriedly wiping her eyes. It was him… was it his pain?  _ ‘You are tethered to him and his magic more than you can fathom. Your blood connects you to the Greenwood, as it does to him.’  _ Lady Galadriel had spoken of it more than once, the woman’s words echoing in her mind repeatedly as Thranduil made even strides toward her. Was he angry? He seemed angry. Pale blue had turned sterling, and she swallowed thickly as the guard bowed and left the two to their privacy. 

Even though his expression was hardened, unreadable, the sight of him still took her breath away, robes dragging the ground but never picked up a speck of filth, those pale eyes that threatened to steal her very soul along with her heart, the silvery blonde hair that never seemed out of place, and his crown only made him more intimidating. With the spring, his robes were set to match, a sage in hue along with the leaves and budding flowers in his crown. Thranduil was the vision that had run away with her very being, and no matter how things were, she knew she was forever at his mercy. No one else dared hover near them as the king’s shoulders drew back, looking over her trembling form. She wore pants and a tunic again, covering her scars entirely and her arms were around herself, her gaze timid as if afraid to look at him. “You’ve no need to be frightened of me, Aranel. Unless you’ve done something to warrant such a guilt in your eyes.” Her breath caught, but she shook her head instantly. “N-No, my King. I’ve done nothing, I swear.” He began to walk toward his halls, and she knew she needed to follow, careful to keep up lest he really should become angry. 

Not a word was spoken between them as Thranduil led the princess inside, the silence ominous and foreboding, as if fearing her banishment or execution. Yet… the grief… it vanished, still there but hardly noticeable. He led her to his study, well away from any nosy elves within the woodland halls, and closed the door behind her. “I assume you know what I’m about to ask you.” She nodded as her breath shook, almost pacing. “Y-You… you want to know how I feel your pain, my lord.” 

“And yet, you tremble as if you’ve done something wrong. Cast any magic for that connection to have formed? How long have you been able to…” She felt his anger rising, turning her eyes away as they began to fill with tears and rapidly shook her head. “N-No, my King! I-I swear, I did  _ nothing  _ to make it happen, I… I’ve even tried reading every possible book to-to make it stop and I can’t! I never asked for this!” Her cries were wrenching, but his anger wavered, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, to guide her to sit, but she flinched violently from him. “I-I-I’m so sorry…” 

“Aranel, sit down.” 

Once again, his hand brushed across her back, guiding her to a plush armchair and took the one beside her. “How long has this connection been in place?” Her cries had stopped, the princess inhaling shakily before she wiped her eyes and sniffed. “U-Uhm… since… since the first symbol was removed m-months ago. It… I didn’t understand it, I still don’t. I can… I can feel some things, but… but not everything. It-it doesn’t let me inside your mind or anything, just… s-strong emotions are usually amplified when they happen. M-My lord, I really tried to make it stop s-so something like this wouldn’t happen. I-” Sara’s hazel turned to his electric blue, chewing her lip as he silenced her with only a look. “What else can you feel, what emotions?” 

“Just… mostly just pain, and it… I know that pain, I have it myself, but… but it grows somehow, I don’t... th-then… Then when you’re truly angry, or… or worried about something, but… n-nothing else, my King.” Thranduil grew silent for a moment, no longer angry, but perplexed. “What did you mean by ‘tried to make it stop’?” Her ankles crossed, tucking under the chair so she wouldn’t bounce them, her fingers twisting in front of her. 

“It… it’s another reason I spent so much time in the library. I… I felt like it was invasive, somehow, and… and I don’t want to do that to you, or to anyone, my lord. It isn’t right. S-So… so when I looked over every book on magic or special abilities, there was nothing. And,” she inhaled shakily. “And then I tried to… to not be noticed or seen by you, but… that didn’t work either, and… Lady Galadriel and all the books told me that whatever abilities are given to me, I carry with me until I die. Gandalf said it too, back when my dad was here. I really did try, my King. I’m sorry I can’t make it stop.” Her voice wavered, and he knew she was sincere in her apology, though he needed to be sure. “Indulge me a little, if you will. We’ve not communicated telepathically in some time.” He wanted inside her mind again. She had told him the truth, not once had she lied, but he was her king, she couldn’t refuse him, especially in his halls. Sara met his gaze, worry evident in her own, but if there was anything he was suspicious of, Thranduil excelled at masking it. It wasn’t long before he’d reached where he needed to be, she could hear his voice clearly. 

_ “Even your thoughts are as frightened as you. You’re certain you’ve told me everything?”  _

_ “Y-Yes, my lord. H-Here, this… this is where I’ve tried…”  _ She led him through her memories, each one panicked and pacing as she struggled to find some way to disconnect her empathy from the king, but there was no solution. Even moments where she’d spoken with Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, and Mithrandir had made themselves visible, each of them explaining it was something she’d carry until her last breath. When the elvenking removed himself from her thoughts, she swallowed thickly, averting her frightened eyes to her lap. “That isn’t the only way your magic has been tethered, has it?” 

“N-No, my King. A-Another part is… however it works, I… I make your enchantments stronger. The gates, the river, even your will over who comes or goes is strengthened.” That steel blue gaze was piercing, alight with further intrigue. “Then perhaps these lands are your home, after all.”

She didn’t dare open her mouth about the memories she’d kept locked from him- the times she cried because her love for him felt hopeless and misplaced, or the way her heart picked up no matter when he was around. “I… I’d like it to be, if… if that is what you’ll allow.” 

“You strengthen my enchantments and cloak my lands from dark forces threatening to destroy it. How is that something to cast aside?” Relief she hadn’t expected settled over her, taking the weight from her shoulders. “I… I wasn’t sure… I thought you’d be angry with me…” 

“Over something of which you possess little, if any, control? What you possess, emotions notwithstanding, is a blessing upon my kingdom, Aranel.” With another swallow, she nodded, and Thranduil saw her soul-stealing eyes light up with hope. “Thank you… thank you for understanding, my lord. If… if I could change anything-” 

“Think nothing of it, hm? Though I believe you were at the gates earlier today?”

Sara filled him in on her ability to bring new plantlife to his kingdom, wanting to test her ability to make sure Sauron only affected the one instance instead of her entire gift, thankful it was only then and nothing more. “And you’ve grown flowers thus far. Tell me, do you think you could bring new greenery to life?” She inclined her head almost emphatically. “I… I think so, my lord. In… in the memory, I was able to. Can I try?” His features softened at her excitement, her willingness to do whatever he asked of her, and returned her nod with one of his own. “I won’t prevent you from revitalizing the Greenwood. You may get started whenever you desire.” The look on his face wasn’t fair to her, something so eloquent and graceful, he continued to take her breath away as if it were the very first time all over again. Thranduil persisted in having that effect on her. “Thank you, my King. I’m excited to try.”


	23. Chapter 23

Months flew by quicker than the princess expected, bringing new plants to life within the kingdom to replace what had faded with the magical sickness. Those that wilted, she restored, the various plants flourishing under her touch. Most days, she exhausted herself with the determination to fix as much as she could in little time, sometimes falling asleep beneath the trees or amidst the plants she grew. “Woah there, Aranel, hold!” Legolas had caught her by the shoulder as she walked a quick pace, seeing the determination in her hazel eyes. “I think you can give yourself a rest for one day.” 

“O-Oh! Your Highness! I’m so sorry, I was so focused, and I-” The prince couldn’t stifle his well-meaning laughter, patting her in a friendly manner. “I can see that. Did  _ Ada  _ send you on this task?” Immediately, she shook her head, still possessing a bounce in her step. “Not at all, it was my idea, actually. I… to be honest, I… I don’t think I told His Majesty how much I’d set to work on fixing his kingdom.” The excessively large rabbit had found her again after the frigid winter, now deciding to tag along, and the princess scooped it up, but its hind legs dangled, earning more laughter from the prince. 

“It’s bigger than you are!” 

“Hey! Just because I’m little does  _ not  _ mean I can be given a ration of shit!” But her smile grew as much as he laughed, turning the rabbit to rest on her shoulder. “Why haven’t you told him then, Aranel?” 

“Well… it’s… it’s not much, but… I wanted something of a good surprise for him? His Majesty, you, Tauriel, and every soldier and guard within this kingdom works so hard to make sure everyone within is safe, the least I could do was add something nice to come home to.” She was well aware that the kingdom, the forest itself, stretched for days worth of walking, perhaps even weeks, but she also knew that Thranduil forbade her from leaving the gates, as both she and the Greenwood simultaneously cloaked one another from dark magics and hostile forces. The prince’s expression became tenderer then, and before Sara could flit to her next spot in the kingdom, he’d embraced her.  _ Elves don’t hug… this is…  _ the princess froze briefly, but returned his embrace with one of her own, a smile as the two released one another. “You’ve already given it safety-”

“And now I want to heal it,” she finished, setting the rabbit down, her tone insistent. Legolas followed her to another patch of wilting, dying plants, including trees, watching as Sara kneeled, her palms to the soil. A thrum of energy filled her, a happy energy that was filled with exuberance and protection, bringing a luminescence to her form and it visibly trailed to her arms, then her hands, then into the soil beneath her touch. “It’s okay,” she promised the reluctant flora. “You’re safe here.” The prince was visibly confused, but before he could ask who she was speaking with, sprouts and vines began to grow, rapidly spreading. She knew it was the start of summer, that she hadn’t even scraped the surface, but it was something worth accomplishing. The depth of the hue sparked nothing less than incomprehensible life, and as if shuddering a held breath, a few flowers began to bloom. Even the sick and weary tree had seemed to shudder with new invigoration. “By the Valar… you did all that?” The prince was in disbelief as she stood, watching her creations spread and grow, healing other sick plants and trees. “I… I think so. I hope so. But… Do you think it helps the Greenwood?”

“If your abilities haven’t helped, then nothing will,” he replied with a smile. Legolas had become one of her best friends, and his words brought a bright smile to her features. “Thank you so much, Your Highness! I don’t… I don’t know how to say thank you, properly anyway.” 

“We should all be thanking you, actually. You’re revitalizing our home. And Aranel…” When her hazel met his steel blue, he was still grinning. “It’s just Legolas.” Her smile had softened, a half-smile, and she shuffled a little. “I… I’m still trying to get the hang of things, you know?” 

“Even with immortality?” She nodded, and as she straightened, wiping her knees free of any soil, the two began heading toward the inside of Thranduil’s halls, hearing someone shout behind them. “There you are!” Tauriel! Sara’s smile was bright, hugging her friend close, still envious of the hair length the captain had. “We’ve cleared another patrol, but I fear we’re going to be leaving again soon.” Though she felt a touch disheartened, she could see how eager the elven prince was to spend more time with the redhead. “More spiders?” 

Tauriel nodded as they drifted inside, passing by Thranduil himself. Sara curtsied lowly as her friends bowed, though the elvenking’s eyes were focused on his son. The princess was briefly perplexed before she remembered….  _ Legolas is in love with Tauriel! He knows!  _ “Aranel, if you’re not tending to the flora outside, accompany me to my study.” Sara offered a small wave to the two with her, following the elvenking to the privacy of his study. “My King?” 

“You’re not blind to the events transpiring in my kingdom, Aranel, you see and hear much more than you will admit to. Tell me, does Legolas not harbor an affection for Tauriel?” Immediately, Sara remembered what happened when it was discovered that Legolas had fallen in love with Tauriel, a Silvan elf whereas they were Sindarin, like she was becoming. “You will remember what happens if you lie to me,  _ dilthen er _ , and not even your father can refute the will I hold in my lands.” Her breath shook, wrapping her arms around herself and nodded. “I… I cannot say for certain, my king, but… they are kind to one another. Perhaps they’re just good friends?” 

“I know my son, and I have no doubt that what he feels for Tauriel is something more than friendship.”

She was visibly confused, as friendship in her world was vastly more open than the one she now resided. “M-My lord, I… I don’t ask out of ignorance, for I am still learning the proper etiquette, but can you tell me how things are different?” Thranduil guided her to sit, offering her a glass of wine, which she politely took, taking a small sip. He explained that most elves could tell with a simple look to another, while others made grander gestures of gifts and adamantly spent time with one another, and then she understood. Legolas was seeking time with Tauriel on a lot of occasions, whether it be a patrol or just another scouting mission. “Oh… I… I didn’t know… is that bad? Him harboring an affection for her?” Thranduil stood then, gliding around the room as if he were weightless. “I wouldn’t expect you to comprehend yet, Aranel, but Legolas is of pure Sindarin blood. The captain is lowly and Silvan. It would not do well for the two to find harmony with one another.” To Sara, it made no sense. Love was love, why did it make a difference what bloodline? Though she knew better than to speak that way in front of the elvenking, he would surely see her banished otherwise. 

“I… I think I get it… You’re also trying to make sure he has what’s best, right? Since you’re his father above all else?” Something shifted in the elvenking’s electric blue eyes then- appreciation. “You learn fast. I am impressed, Aranel. Your father would be proud.” She wanted to be thrilled at his praise, and part of her was, but she knew no one could stop their heart from wanting someone, regardless of status or the like. “I… I only wish to completely understand before speaking, my King. Ignorance is the quickest route to unnecessary bloodshed.” Something else began to shift within the king, looking over her with renewed appreciation, even a fondne- no. It wasn’t happening! Yet, Thranduil looked her over with a sense of pride, his grin growing. “And there is where I see the difference between you and your father, for he simply went in head first.” Though the moment was tense, she snorted, knowing how much her father matched that statement. “When it comes to his family or something he wants to protect, then very much so, my lord.” 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Bear with me on this, as it WILL be edited in the future, thank you for understanding). The time has come, the dwarves have been captured, conflict ensues. And PSA: I loved writing Bilbo. The series is going to have more with him in later episodes, as well as the other dwarves.

As far as Sara could tell, not a word had been spoken to either Tauriel or Legolas, but she noticed the king’s eye became more watchful over them, during the months where early summer began to become sweltering, the sticky humidity making her detest overly hot or cold months. The princess aimed to make herself more invisible, to not draw anymore attention lest Thranduil figured out what she’d kept secret for well over a year, that she was in love with him beyond all recovery. As the unbearable heat began to grow, she’d tucked herself out of sight most days, though she kept her determination in revitalizing the flora while searching for ill-fallen animals. The more she drifted past others in the king’s halls, the more she heard talks of a Thorin Oakenshield and a band of dwarves journeying to the Lonely Mountain, in hopes of reclaiming Erebor. In any other instance, she would have believed she was dreaming, or reading the books, or even watching the movie adaptations, but… everything before her was very real. From the plants she grew to the animals she healed, her sleeping quarters and all before her eyes were touchable, she even felt pain if something hurt her. 

As the whispering grew, the elvenking’s demeanor had shifted slightly. Sara knew it was because he wanted those gems, that he would do anything to get them, and she also knew what events would transpire in the future. Unless… unless she could find a way to get those gems for him instead. It would take careful planning, despite if it was viewed as a gesture of affection, but she wanted to try. Thranduil had seemed a touch more irritable as the weather became stifling. What was his view on summer? But she knew it had to be because of the dwarves’ movement encroaching toward their lands. While it was true, the woodland king began devising a plan should the dwarves come through, he was also still battling the internal conflict whenever the princess was near. The annoyance he’d once felt from her absence had returned, the sensation growing into aggravation as no matter how deep he would inhale, the air felt stale, as if he couldn’t find a relieving breath. He wasn’t blind to the realization that the breaths came easier when Aranel was in his presence, but it heightened his guilt, sending her away as he sought to succumb to whatever agony dealt to him in remembrance of his wife. 

During those times, Sara was always positive that Thranduil was beginning to detest her presence, wanting nothing to do with her though she remained a guest in his halls. She wasn’t aware of his struggle, though she knew something was amiss, yet could never summon the courage to ask what was wrong more than once. It was evident he didn’t want to speak of it, and she never asked again, even though she wanted to. _Most people get sick of you a lot sooner, be glad it wasn’t, and that you’re still a guest. - But he could change his mind and tell me to leave…_ With no real way of knowing unless he chose to speak, she could do no more than keep to her word, healing his kingdom as much as possible. During those moments, she would engross herself in the task, putting forth as much energy as possible, exhausting herself to where the first thing she’d do once entering her chambers was bathe, then set to bed. More than once, she’d fallen asleep on the floor, looking out over the forest as she lay under the stars. She wanted to help somehow, to ease his suffering, but she couldn’t. Thranduil knew she wanted to, he could see the dejected glimmer in her eyes when he refused her question, guilt nestling in his chest when she didn’t ask again. 

It wasn’t pity in her gaze, but concern, outright worry for him, and he saw her uncertainty in each step she made around him. A cloud hung over her ever since, but she always tried to keep a calm, glittering mask over her emotions, a smile on her face. He knew it was just a pretense, and though he wondered over what he could do or say to bring back the genuinity of her smile, he was interrupted by Legolas, reporting of extra movement in the forests, that the spiders were chasing something. “Then the distraction should aid in eliminating those foul creatures.” 

“I will take Tauriel on another patrol, Ada. We will clear the lands of them.” At the mention of Tauriel, on seeing the softened expression on his son’s features, the elvenking said nothing, but knew it was time to speak with the captain, to dissuade his son from pursuing the endeavor. Even Aranel knew… She was empathic as it was, observant to most dealings, but she often kept her silence, and the king was suspicious of it being due to her tender heart, of wanting happiness for everyone. 

Two months had passed since then. Sara had stuck to her chambers for a few days, resting to restore her energy from healing so much of his lands in as little time as possible, giving herself cool baths to stave off the heat that she detested so much. At least, within the ground and amidst the stone, it remained cooler than in the forest. Tauriel and Legolas had been running patrols almost daily, and she missed them terribly, unable to see them or really anyone unless it was a servant or a guard. While she missed them, she also spoke with those she came in contact with, hoping to relieve her loneliness that only grew more potent for even glancing at the elvenking. _I suppose it’s a good thing Thranduil can’t feel my emotions like I can feel his… he’d banish me for sure_. 

She was passing through the halls one day, hearing shouts and the footsteps of several people, her eyebrows knitting together when she saw Legolas running toward the throne where his father sat. “ _Ada_ , we’ve come upon dwarves in our patrols, it is none other than Thorin Oakenshield and his company.” Her heart flew in her throat, tucking herself behind an intricate pillar to avoid being seen, watching as Thranduil barely inclined his head. She turned her stare to one of the paths, seeing a number of guards and shorter folk, most of them scraggly and possessing beards that went below their stomachs. Most were taken to the dungeons, pulled along almost roughly before she saw something shift behind them. Her eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t decipher if she’d really seen anything, or if her mind was playing tricks. “Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand,” Thranduil’s melodic baritone echoed off the intricate structures of his halls, startling her, but she kept herself hidden and watched him speak with Thorin. “A quest to reclaim a homeland, and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk.”

Sara knew how the conversation would go, but no matter how she willed herself away, she couldn’t move, rooted to the spot as she listened to her king speak. She could listen to him speak for the rest of her life and happily enjoy the melody. Thranduil knew they found a way in, he was as observant as he was wise, and she knew the dwarves had just left Imladris, had even escaped goblins. Bilbo has the Ring. No matter how her heart raced, she couldn’t just leave. Thorin sought the Arkenstone just as much as he did Erebor and briefly, she could hear murmurs between Tauriel and Legolas about the dwarf that had flirted with her. Already, Sara could hear the attraction in the redhead’s voice, swallowing thickly because she knew it would hurt the elven prince, and the captain would be banished as well as lose Kili to a battle with Azog the Defiler, the pale orc that had barely been spoken of. Her mind had once again returned to focus on the sight before her, Thranduil speaking with Thorin, offering him a deal. In order of their release, the dwarves would have to return what was his, giving his word that they would be free to go. 

Bracing herself for what came next, she still flinched when Thorin shouted at her king, anger flaring within as he insulted the elf in his native tongue. Thranduil, undeterred, had gotten face to face with the dwarven king. “Do not talk to me of dragon fire,” he hissed, and she could hear him as though she were standing there with them. Her breath caught as she watched, unable to tear her eyes away. Though feet apart from where they stood, Sara watched the elvenking shift his glamour to reveal his dragon fire scars, ones that ate the side of his face almost in entirety. To stifle her gasp, she covered her mouth, her heart breaking. It was so much worse to see it in person than it was to read about. One of his beautiful eyes was actually blinded and white, but all she wanted to do was hug him, to kiss those scars and tell him she still- but if she did that, he would cast her out. “I know its wrath and ruin.” She could do nothing in that moment, rooted to the spot when she heard someone move beside her. Bilbo? Hazel eyes darted everywhere, but saw no sign of the hobbit, then heard her king’s tone change toward Thorin. Thranduil had said he was just like his grandfather with his greed, then sent him to the dungeons to rot until his mind would change. Guards took him away without even a word, merely the wave of his hand, and Sara hurriedly moved to not get caught by the king. 

It became hard to focus on her task of bringing new plantlife to the kingdom, still in disbelief that she was actually living in what she’d read. The elvenking seemed to put the entire kingdom on its toes, as if he’d become possessed. It was as though he’d all but forgotten she was there. A week had passed, and she had heard everything there was to say or speak of within the halls when something bumped her. It was light, but it was there, yet nothing was around her as she walked to her chambers. Hazel eyes narrowed, scouring the area. “I know you’re here,” she hissed to the air. “I won’t say a word, but if you’re the hobbit, I may need your help.” Nothing, not even so much as a breath for moments that felt like hours, then… there he was. Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of The Shire, standing directly in front of her. She was a little taller than him, and he seemed on edge, but she understood why. “You’re here to free them, aren’t you?” 

“How do I know you won’t tell the Elvenking about my being here? What position do you hold in his halls?”

“I’m his guest, it’s a long story, but… I can help you, but I need some help as well.” 

She led the hobbit to her chambers and shut the door. “Don’t speak too loud, His Majesty’s chambers aren’t that far away,” she breathed, checking for any other presence beyond theirs. When she was satisfied there weren’t any, she sighed, heavily. “Who are you, exactly?” Bilbo asked hesitantly. “And how can you help?” 

“My name is Sara, but… they know me as Aranel here. My father is the king of the western lands and I’m here because I made a promise to the king to keep his lands safe. I can help in the sense that I can direct you which way to go to get your dwarvish friends out of here without being caught, but before I give you anything, I need you to give me your word on something.” The hobbit stepped forward carefully, and while his expression was guarded, he seemed to think she wanted out as well. “There… there are gems that my king is looking for, that he was promised by Thorin’s grandfather, but never got. I… if you can help me get them, give them to him, then I would be in your debt. Promise me you’ll help me get those gems and I can guarantee you and your friends a swift exit from his halls.” 

He seemed to think on it for a small time, but finally agreed. “Why would you do this? What does helping the king get you in return?” Sara fell silent then, clasping her hands in front of her. “Sometimes, you can’t control where your heart leads you, even if it’s through unimaginable pain.” He’d opened his mouth to speak, but something prevented him from doing so. Instead, he offered his hand for her to shake, a gesture she accepted and returned. “If traveling with the dwarves has taught me anything, it’s that anything is possible. Maybe the path you find yourself on will be less painful than you’re expecting.” She gave the hobbit a kind smile, her heart aching as hope threatened to surge. She tamped it down, fully expecting not to earn the attention of the elf she’d sought for over a year. A year was nothing to the elves, but with her still adjusting, the year had felt like an eternity while simultaneously being nothing at all. “Th-thank you. I… I wasn’t an elf before, so… this is all new to me…” Bilbo was confused, and instead of leaving immediately like he’d intended, he took a seat in her chair. “You weren’t an elf before? Is this some kind of trick? What happened?”

“It’s not a trick, I swear, it’s… you remember being told of the one who created the rings?” When he nodded, she continued, stating that she was from another world entirely, one with modernity and technology, having to explain those things once more, then spoke of her writing and speaking with her friend before she was taken by orcs through a gateway that brought her to their world. Sara didn’t forget to add her blood, how it was changing the longer she stayed, and while Bilbo was skeptical, he took her words as the truth they were. For the first time in months, she felt like she had a friend, even mentioning as much. “You know, you seem a little timid and a lot more accepting than most in King Thranduil’s halls. It certainly makes your tale seem even truer than what I’d thought.” 

“And… And you, Bilbo, you’re the first person I’ve met outside of other elves that I can call a friend. Well, then there’s Gandalf, but it’s nice to meet another friendly face.” He grinned, proudly, and drew back his shoulders. “You’ve met Gandalf?” She nodded, explaining the barriers and the symbols he and the Lady Galadriel, along with Lord Elrond, sought to remove from her mind and take back her memories.

She couldn’t explain the relief she felt, being able to unload everything to another person, and though it was merely repeating what she’d been through, she felt as though the hobbit was of more understanding and fortitude than he even gave himself. Sara turned the topic to getting him food, as well as for the dwarves, and opted to sneak to the dungeons herself to see the company of Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarves, upon her arrival, were quiet, not really speaking to one another as they assumed she was another guard. Upon turning their eyes toward her, they saw the dress, a few of them perking up. It was the elder dwarf, Balin, that came toward the bars first. “Are you another royal, miss?” Her hazel met his bright gaze, timidly stepping closer. “I’m a guest in His Majesty’s halls. You’re the dwarves that were captured?”

“Thank goodness,” he grinned, wrinkling his wizened gaze. “Someone who appears to have sense out of the rest of them. We are, and who might you be?” 

“Don’t speak to her, Balin!” Another, Dori, had called out, looking guarded as ever. Thorin refused to even look in her direction. “But she is quite small for an elf,” Bofur approached his own bars then, looking at her curiously. “She mixed with anything?”

“I… I’m part faerie,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve seen Bilbo. I promised to help him get you out of here if he can promise me something in return.” 

“And what is it you’re seeking, lass?” Balin wondered. “She seeks the White Gems of Lasgalen for her king,” Thorin finally spat. Sara squinted at the dwarven king. “And if you want to reclaim Erebor, you’ll hold your damn promise,” she hissed in return. “Both sides have seen hardship and conflict. Enough is enough. They’re for his late wife, show some sympathy!” Now she knew why Thranduil butt heads with Thorin, he was stubborn and greedy, exactly as she’d complained about before ever meeting one. Thorin grew quiet then, allowing her to speak with Balin. “Even if you don’t speak with His Majesty, if you can give me your word that we can get those gems, you will be released.” Balin wanted to agree, she could see it, but he wasn’t in charge, and before anyone could speak, more elves were coming to check on the dwarven prisoners. 

Somehow, she wasn’t sure how, but somehow, she avoided being detected by the guards, slipping by unseen as she went back to her chambers to inform Bilbo, as well as rant about the stubbornness of the dwarves. The hobbit laughed outright, agreeing with her. “They’re loyal to a fault though,” he offered. “I understand that, I just don’t want any bloodshed over the things in the mountain. And you guys still have to face a dragon!” Bilbo laughed, albeit nervously, but Sara was adamant on helping if she could help her king get those gems he wanted so much for his late wife. Whether it hurt her or not, she only wanted the king’s happiness. It was the hobbit, however, who called her out verbally. “You’ve fallen in love with the woodland king in a year.” She took in a sharp, catching breath, averting her eyes. “L-Less than that, actually… But… but I want to see that he’s happy, even if… even if he condemns himself forever to an eternity of heartache.” 

“But it’s hurting you.”

“What else can I do? He’s a king, I’m just his guest. Princess or not, no one can sway the woodland king. All I can hope to be is his friend.”

“Like I told you before, Aranel, people may surprise you, even elves bent on self-destruction.”

Her heart was desperate for the hope Bilbo was seeking to give her, the stinging of her eyes rimming them in crimson. What she wouldn’t give to have Thranduil fall in love with her, but she knew, or assumed, that such a thing was impossible to achieve. “I… Bilbo, my newest friend, I would love nothing more than to earn the love of my king, but I fear his grief is too great. He will never see me as more than the daughter of his friend and a guest in his realm.”

“You don’t know that, Aranel. What people say and mean can change.” She swallowed thickly, then embraced the hobbit as a few tears streamed from her eyes. “I can only hope.” 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has words with Tauriel over Legolas, and Sara helps her friend feel better. The dwarves escape, and after the orc is decapitated, the elvenking spots the princess watching and questions her.

Another week had passed when Tauriel passed Sara on the verge of tears, the princess stopping her. “Tauriel?” At first, the captain didn’t want to stop, but the faerie pulled her into her chambers and sat her on the chair. “What happened?” 

“His Majesty… spoke of Legolas possessing a fondness for me. I am to eliminate his hope.” Hazel eyes widened, and though she wanted to march to the king and tell him that people can’t control their hearts, she knew he would interrogate her harder if she tried speaking with him. Tauriel needed her more in that moment as it was. She was already aware of his insistence that Legolas be paired with another Sindarin, and instead of marching from the room, hugged the redhead. “Were you not aware that Legolas cared for you that way?” She shook her head, sniffing as she reined in her tears. “I thought he was being friendly, and even if… even if it were allowed… he is not the one I seek.” 

The princess was already aware of what would happen, but she couldn’t interfere with things. Instead, she sat beside her friend, hugging her. “Then one will come to you when you least expect. Don’t give up, okay?” Tauriel sniffed, nodding as she returned the princess’s embrace. “The king, he… he was just so… ugh!” She was almost growling, shaking her head. Sara knew well enough, and she could see both sides, though she remained unable to take sides. The redhead had begun to rant about the way Thranduil refused to see Legolas with a Silvan elf, despite that was the majority of those he ruled, and the princess, while disheartened, remained as a source of support for the captain. “I know I can’t step in, but… maybe there’s a happy solution for everyone? I hope so…” 

“Aranel, I… I know you have feelings for His Majesty, but… this doesn’t seem so easily settled. His Majesty even hinted at the warning that if I don’t discourage Legolas’s feelings, that something would happen.” 

Sara knew what that meant, and she knew what would come. Tauriel would be banished, and it wouldn’t matter whether the princess intervened or not. There was even a likelihood that Thranduil would banish her for even attempting to bring peace to the situation. Three weeks later, all her worrying had been misplaced, as the dwarves and Bilbo had escaped the woodland king’s halls, into the enchanted river and picked up by a boatsman, Bard. Anyone who had any contact with the dwarves was brought forth, but because she hadn’t made her presence known, Sara wasn’t. Yet as each guard and servant was interrogated, she was overcome with a nefarious laughter within her mind. Something was wrong. Sauron was pleased about something. What it was, she couldn’t say, but it would only lead to more strife in the days to come. As the dwarves escaped, an orc had been captured, and once again, Sara hid as to not draw the attention of those who would take her back to the wicked lord himself. 

With the dwarves gone, she hid behind another pillar as Thranduil, Legolas, and Tauriel all interrogated the orc by knife-point. Her breathing had quickened, though silent, and it was hard to believe any time had passed since the dwarves’ escape from Thranduil’s dungeons. Hopefully they would deliver on their promise. As she watched, she heard the elvenking’s statement of how darkness always came forth, then Legolas’ questioning of the reason why the orcs were following the dwarves. It was then that the orc began to taunt Tauriel, stating the young dwarf, Kili, had been hit by a Morgul shaft, one that was poisoning his blood. Thranduil’s harsh order for the redhead to leave made Sara recoil, but even then, she didn’t flee, hoping nothing was spoken of her running from Sauron himself. Whether Thranduil was concerned about it or not, she never knew, and once the king had the information he needed, barely made a move and the orc’s head was gone. Sara clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound of horror threatening to escape.

Legolas wasn’t deterred, asking why his father had taken his head upon the promise to set the orc free before Thranduil explained. Something was coming. Of course, the elvenking knew what it was, as the princess was closely tied to it all, and as he departed, Thranduil gave the order for no one to leave nor enter his kingdom, including his own son. As he drifted down the extensive hall, those sapphire eyes found her. Sara flinched, backing away in a scrambling motion, but- “Aranel. My chambers this instant.” He’d seen her. A whimper escaped, but the princess nodded, gathering herself before she began to drift toward the elvenking’s quarters. When she arrived, she began to pace, chewing her thumbnail and waited for the inevitable, that Thranduil would yell at her or send her away. When he entered, he found her, entirely frazzled, but it didn’t prevent him from beckoning her to come closer. “M-My King?” 

“What were you thinking, listening in like that?” 

Sara swallowed, thickly, her fingers twisting in front of her. “M-My King, I… I didn’t know whether they were… whether they were looking for the dwarves or… or if Sauron was after me. I… I’m so sorry…” She’d begun to back away from him, but Thranduil stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “And now that you yourself have seen the results?” She bit her lip, hard, and tucked her head down. “I know worse is upon us, my lord, and it scares me. It’s not the dragon that sparks my panic.” 

“You don’t think the dark lord has forgotten you?” She shook her head, adamant in the knowledge. “If I did, I would probably be dead by now.” Just as his lips parted to bring up something else, a few guards stepped in, informing him of how the dwarves managed to escape by the aid of a hobbit, and that startling gaze fell on her again. “Aranel… do you know anything about this?” 

She visibly flinched, and Thranduil began to advance on her, rage alight in those striking eyes. “I only wanted to help you get what you seek, my lord! That’s all, I just… I know you’re looking for those gems and I wanted to help… th-they promised they would…” For a moment, he paused, but before Sara could open her eyes, the elvenking had backed her against a wall, towering over her. “For your sake, Aranel, I hope you’re not deceiving me, otherwise this would end poorly.” Her breath shook as her eyes stung and she nodded, swallowing heavily. Thranduil had turned, instructing the guard to gather the soldiers, that they would be packing and preparing for leave within the month, that there were a few humans that needed their aid as well as the agreement he sought. 

Word was sent to various elven kingdoms and regions, one of them being her father’s in the Western Lands, seeking aid in the inevitable battle that Thranduil was sure to take place. Whether her father accepted or not remained to be seen at the field, and the entire woodland realm was alight with various soldiers and guards packing for the trip. “Aranel,” The elvenking’s tone was warning as he called to her. “I hope you’re not expecting to tag along for this journey.” Sara didn’t reply, merely keeping her head down as she bit her lip. She had to make sure the dwarves and Bilbo would keep their promise. While she felt the hobbit would, she knew better from Thorin. He would taunt her king, and she refused to let that arrogance bring more bloodshed. While the others traversed around and packed, she did the same, bringing little by little into their stores, vaguely hearing of how the dwarves released the dragon Smaug, the beast flying toward Lake Town. The place would be destroyed, she knew that, but even so, kept at her packing so she could help somehow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your unending kindness and support as I get things situated in my real life. Not gonna lie my friends, the last three days were truly miserable, and I'm still feeling the effects of it all. Depression is not fun 😣 also, this chapter will be edited in the future as I think it needs a bit more. Thank you all again so much ♥️ I love you all!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara sneaks her way into accompanying the Elvenking and his company, intent on helping him reclaim what he seeks. Another figure from her past arrives on the field.

Finally, after weeks to a month of packing, the soldiers polishing their armor and sharpening their weapons, everyone had readied themselves to depart. Sara, however, refused to be left behind, wanting to be sure that not only her king received his gems, but also avoid unnecessary bloodshed, and when everyone had begun to depart, she packed herself away in a caravan that held their supplies, not the ones they intended for Lake Town. While the town was destroyed, they were about to receive much-needed supplies, and she had to be sure she wasn’t dropped off with the goods the humans were about to receive. The trip would only take a few days at most, and while she never made the slightest sound, she was discovered only halfway through the second day of traveling. Too many of the soldiers of the Greenwood had seen her face. They knew who she was and knew she wasn’t a stowaway, each of them bringing her to Thranduil and dropping her at his feet. Before she even met his eye, she knew she was in the worst trouble she’d ever been in throughout her life- he’d explicitly told her to remain behind, to keep the guard up with his kingdom, but…

“Aranel.” A sound caught in her throat, the girl refusing to lift her eyes to meet the king’s, even though the newly appointed king of Men Bard had been standing close by. “Aranel, look at me. Now.” Swallowing thickly, her eyes raised to those of startling, electric blue, waiting for him to either yell or cast her out. Neither came, but she saw the incomprehensible rage building that his order, his will, had been disobeyed, by her of all people. “My King-” 

“To think, I left the Greenwood under the belief you’d stayed to protect it, to keep it safe, but what do I find instead? My own soldiers reporting to me, asking why you were in the supplies instead of attending duties on my behalf.” Sara tucked her head down. “I wanted to help… somehow…” 

“And how would I explain to your father that I was unable to keep you protected as I had given my word that I would?” 

He’d turned his gaze from her then, barely inclining his head to have his soldiers take her to his camp when he’d spotted Bard, the leader of Lake Town. The newly appointed leader seemed perplexed, then in awe, finding that the elves of the Greenwood had brought aid to their starving, their wounded, their sick. At first, his bewilderment was clear, eyes running over various elves helping his people when he came across the elvenking, noting the small elven girl at the feet of his giant elk. Sara turned her gaze away, her face coloring as embarrassment filled her features. “My lord Thranduil!” One of the elven soldiers helped the princess to her feet, leading her away almost protectively, though she had a sense the elvenking wasn’t finished with her. She’d angered him, she was sure there’d be a punishment. While he and Bard spoke, however, she was granted a few moments of silence. It had become agonizing, waiting for her punishment for sneaking from the kingdom to go along with them to Lake Town. Sara was taken to Thranduil’s tent, left under supervision while he spoke with Bard about his help not being free. 

When he returned, he barely looked in her direction, sitting in his chair as he pored over a map, elegant fingers drifting idly along the parchment. She’d started to retreat from him when his striking blue eyes fell on her. “Stay where you are. You haven’t even an inkling of what you’ve done, Aranel, and now, you will stay and you will  _ listen _ .” Her breath caught, shuddering in her panic, but she nodded, stifling the sound in her throat. He straightened, his regal robes silent as ever as he stepped from the map toward her, towering over her. “You were to stay in the Greenwood and continue working on healing the lands, as well as keep my kingdom cloaked from the encroaching darkness threatening to overtake it. Yet a guard asks me why you were in the supplies, as if I brought you along intentionally.” Thranduil began circling her, as if she were merely a rabbit and he was the wolf. “And now that you’ve been detected, you left my kingdom open and traceable, there will be signs of your presence that they can track. What can you possibly say in your own defense?”

The whimper she’d held back escaped, staring at her fidgeting hands as she struggled to retain her tears. “ I wanted to help…” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat, fighting the way her eyes stung. She covered her mouth, taking shaking breaths through her nose, but didn’t see the way the elvenking’s features softened. “You wanted to- Aranel…” A strangled sob broke free, and Sara hurriedly wiped her eyes. “I… I know you wanted the gems and… and I know you’ve been having trouble getting help from anyone to get them, and… and even if it doesn’t look like I can do much, I-I still want to try.” His expression, while tenderer than it had been moments ago, still masked the war within him. He worried for his kingdom, for the safety of his kin, but realized he’d been using her as the sole defense with the cloaking ability she had. He was relieved to have her in his presence, she made it easier to breathe, but she was also in danger with her being there with him. Someone may use her as leverage. “Admirable though that is, and you have my gratitude, it’s too dangerous to send you out there. Not only are you a princess, but you’re living within my halls. Anyone may seek to make you leverage should it come to war.” 

Hazel eyes snapped to his pale blue, her brows knitting together. “But… but I’m faster now, and… and I’m good with stealth. Please, my King, please let me help.” She was pleading, but he wouldn’t risk her safety, not for what he could get on his own. “I’m sorry, Aranel, but the answer is no. Your father would bring another war if you were to get hurt.” _As would I_...   


“My father knows I can handle myself-” 

“And the answer is still no. If you continue to test my patience, you will be chained in this tent, then in the dungeons for a century.” A small cry left her, but she fell silent, and Thranduil went outside, instructing a guard to keep a close eye on her, that she was not to leave for anything- they would bring her meals and the like, and she would deal with staying in his tent. She heard his footfalls quiet, telling her he’d gone elsewhere, but someone else entered. Bard. Sara wiped her eyes again and sniffed, curtseying low to the new King of Lake Town. “H-Hello… who are you?” 

Bard grinned, but sobered upon seeing her reddened eyes. “My name is Bard, miss. Have you been crying? Where is the lord Thranduil?” She shook her head, forcing a smile. “O-Oh, allergies, that’s all. N-Nice to meet you, Bard, my name is S- Aranel, my father is the king of the Western Lands. As for… As for His Majesty, I… I’m not sure where he’s gone.” His eyebrows rose, grey eyes brightening and he grinned softly, bowing to her. “Forgive me, Princess, I was unaware-” But again, Sara shook her head. “N-No, it’s okay, I… I may have done something I wasn’t supposed to, but… you don’t need to use a title with me.” Bard tilted his head, stepping closer. Even he was gorgeous, but her heart lay with one, and that was her king. “Did something you weren’t supposed to? And that would be?” 

“I… snuck out of the kingdom to come along and help if I could…” In that instant, he laughed, but it wasn’t cruel or vicious. It was friendly, friendlier than she just endured by her king. “And you were punished for that? Ahh, but he is the Elvenking. I would wager there may be some worry as to what guided his actions.” 

Sara could have scoffed. Thranduil? Worried for her? It was unlikely, but it made the hope within flare from a mere spark to a kindling flame, even earning a more genuine smile. “He… I’m sure it came from the right place. I’ve been a guest in his halls for over a year, I’ve sworn an oath to help his lands, and he’s been a benevolent king. Are… are you here to help him?” 

“I am. He wishes to reclaim the gems he’d sought long ago, but never received. I am hoping to avoid bloodshed.” Finally, someone who saw as she did! “I… I hope so too. I just know His Majesty is adamant on reclaiming what is his.” Bard saw something in her, saw how she spoke of Thranduil, even defending him, but made no mention of the fondness he could see. “That much is quite clear. Perhaps we could speak with the dwarves and see if we can come to an arrangement.” 

“If that comes up, I hope you have more luck than the others have had. Thorin was difficult before, but that’s probably because I’m half-elven.” 

Before he could reply, the king had returned. “Bard, you’re back so soon? The supplies were enough for your people? They will need to be in fighting shape.” She began to back away, but Thranduil stilled her with only a glance. Remaining where she was, she kept her eyes averted as the two talked strategy, but listened intently. She knew her king was adamant on things coming to a war, and because she knew of it all in her own world, she knew the war was inevitable. It wouldn’t be long before Gandalf would show up to try to talk to the elvenking. As the two continued to hash things out, she became aware of footsteps crunching through the cold dirt, with someone hushing another. That sounded like her father… Dread coiled in her stomach when the tent opened, revealing the Westlands king in full battle regalia, those matching hazel landing on her. “Sissy, what are you doing here?” 

“I… wanted to help. Somehow-” 

“And I’ve informed her she would be safer here,  _ mellon _ .” 

Reining in the urge to swallow at Thranduil’s reply, she waited for her father to yell, to do something, to reprimand her on going somewhere it wasn’t safe, but… “Stubborn thing,” he shook his head with a sigh, patting her on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, pumpkin. But, I think I may have a couple surprises for you.” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion, watching as her father called over his shoulder. “You can come in now, stop skulking outside.” She was as perplexed as Thranduil and Bard, each of them watching the tent rustle before them before it opened, an elven head peeking through. “Jimmy?” She stepped around her father, tears welling in her eyes. “JIMMY!” Sara barreled into her younger brother who was a lot taller than her, and in a lot better shape than he had been as a human. He was lean, fit, and wore armor as regal as her elvenking’s. Both embraced one another tight, the princess no longer holding back tears. “Jesus.. How did you… where did you…” Unable to think of where to begin, she sniffed, leaning back and held her brother’s face. “I can’t believe it’s really you!” 

What she didn’t see, so engrossed in reuniting with her brother, was the outrageous jealousy flaring to life in Thranduil. So she  _ did _ have someone. His jaw set, but his mask remained in place, nodding to the new elf in his tent. “Rinnion, who might this be?” Rinnion gestured to the prince after he and his sister parted from their embrace. “Thranduil, meet my son. He comes from the same world my daughter and I did. Known as James there, he goes by  Valdaglerion here, and crown prince of the Western Lands.” 

“My little brother!” Her breathless cry of wonder was met by a tease from her brother, mussing her hair. “And I’m bigger than you here as well.” 

“OYE!” She was grinning from ear to ear, wiping her eyes a few times. “How long have you been here?  _ How  _ did you even get here?” Her brother was watching the others around them, curious as could be, but tilted his head slightly. “Got taken by orcs, they pushed me through some kind of opening and one struck the side of my face. I stole its sword and gut it like a stuck pig, then the other, then bolted. Had no idea where the fuck I was until dad found me while he was hunting.” 

“Huh… you weren’t near the Greenwood?”

He shook his head, the two shifting their weight. “No, I was a little west of Harlindon. Is that where you ended up?” Sara nodded, tapping her lips a few times. “They took me to Dol Guldur, I still haven’t even had the symbols removed from the barrier in my memory, but… I know I was there for at least ten years.” While the two caught up, they’d forgotten their audience, with Bard and their father smiling while Thranduil smirked, jealousy departing after Rinnion explained. Her younger brother. He could see the similarities, but there were a lot of differences beyond the obvious. As their conversation and catching up had waned, their father got their attention. “Go ahead and get the crate.” Her brother had nodded and left, earning more confusion. “Dad…?” 

“I was gonna send it to the Greenwood, but since you’re here, you might as well have it now.” 

“That tells me nothing,” she huffed, wiggling her nose, earning her father’s laughter. “Tough shit, pumpkin. Surprise is a surprise, this was for your birthday anyway.” 

Sara turned her eyes to Thranduil’s, her elvenking inclining his head with his eyebrow raised curiously. “Don’t look at me, your father’s whims are his own, and I’ve no idea what he wishes to bestow upon you.” She bit her lip, eyebrows knit together in thought. What could her dad possibly want to give her? She already had the necklace, keeping it with the statue of the woodland king’s late wife… Lost in thought, her brother had returned, carrying a sizeable wooden crate and lay it at her feet. The thing was big enough that she could fit in it if she curled her knees to her chest. “Don’t just wait for an invitation- open it.” Carefully, Sara knelt in front of the crate, her hands trembling as she pried the lid from it. A gasp left her upon seeing its contents. Within the crate, and obviously packed with the utmost care, was a set of elven armor, expertly crafted. A deep shade of forest green along what she thought looked to be scales along the chest piece, feathers on the shoulders, intermittent with onyx. It even held a cloak and a hood.

“This… this is mine?” She turned her gaze to her father then, seeing the pride in his eyes. “That’s not all of it. Go on.” 

“There’s  _ more _ ? Dad, I… you didn’t have to-” She bit her lip, taking care as she removed the armor and set it on her lap, looking through the rest. There was another set of clothing inside, what resembled Tauriel’s almost, and again, with a lot of green, the chest possessing a cover of chocolate brown leather with bracers to match. “Ohh…” She’d touched something cold beneath the clothing, and she set that aside too to further investigate. Weapons. She had her own weapons. Within the bottom of the crate lay elven daggers, a sword, and a bow with a quiver of arrows, but something else lay at the bottom. “Careful with that last one.” She only managed a nod, removing a dual ended spear, the points curved as her blades had been. “Woah! Dad, these… these are mine? You’re serious?” Rinnion knelt beside his daughter, helping her gather everything. “Consider it a late birthday gift. I didn’t forget you, Sissy.” Once everything had been tucked back inside the crate, Sara hugged her father tight, a smile over her features. “Thank you, dad, I love them all- I actually wanna go change now.” She laughed, awkwardly, getting the strong sense that Thranduil would forbid it. 

“That would be advisable,” the woodland king surprised her. “There’s no guarantee of safety out here on the field, it is better you’re prepared and not left defenseless.” Her hazel met his bright gaze, seeing they were almost the shade of steel. “Th-thank you, my King,” her eyes roamed his tent, finding a divider that would give her the privacy she needed to change. “May I…?” She nodded to it, and he made a gesture to allow her. Thankful she was in pants and a tunic, she gathered the armor, her eyes to the ground before stepping behind it to change. No one spoke, and she could have sworn it was Bard that had awkwardly cleared his throat. Ah, propriety, that would do it. Yet she was well aware Thranduil wouldn’t allow her out of his sight for an instant unless he was needed elsewhere. Shit. Some of the pieces needed to be clasped in the back, and in places she couldn’t reach, but who would she ask? She hummed thoughtfully, attempting to reach the clasps on her own when she heard soldiers outside. “King Rinnion, Prince Valdaglerion, there is a presence at your tent that requires your attention.” 

“Okay, we’re on our way. Sissy, stay out of trouble!” 

“Yes, dad! See you later!” With her dad and brother departing, that left her trying to change behind cover with Thranduil and Bard still close by, yet she refused to give up on the clasps. “Aranel, what seems to be the problem?” Shit. Of course Thranduil would ask. “I… I’m all right, I just… the clasps on the back, I’m trying to reach them.” Since she was still clothed, already having everything else on except the cloak, she almost yelped when she felt hands at her back. “These pieces are intricate,” the elvenking murmured behind her, and while his voice was stern, his touch reflected the opposite. His hands drifted along her back as if he were taking care of her, being gentle with her as he started to fasten the clasps properly at her lower back, then worked his way up. “One wrong fastening can mean an arrow piercing through.” She swallowed thickly and nodded. “I… thank you, my King.” As he finished the last one, just above her shoulder blades, he lingered for a moment, his fingertips brushing over the armor. 

She was unaware of the thought passing through the king’s mind, of how he wanted to brush her hair over her shoulder and press his lips to her neck, berating himself internally as he reluctantly pulled away. “It’s beautiful craftsmanship, the weapons and armor. Your father chose well.” When she turned, meeting his gaze, color rose against her features, noting how close he was, how wonderful he smelled, and just how much bigger he was than her. “He… my father knows I enjoy these sorts of things as much as I do flowers and stuff… I’m one of the weirder ones.” He grinned at her. Slight, one corner of his lips quirking up, but it was there. “I would say you’re practical, and you appreciate what you’re given. If you’re finished, equip your weapons, but you are to stay in this tent unless ordered otherwise.” Sara nodded and chewed her lip again, her usual habit that had begun to rile the elvenking despite his adept mask revealing nothing. “Thank you again, my King.” Their voices were soft, and briefly, she felt like they were the only two nearby before he returned to his maps. Bard, while purposely trying to avoid listening, could sense the tension between the two elves. 

Even when Thranduil became visible again, the Man could see the Elf was conflicted, his eyes softening upon looking at the girl. He had feelings for her that were more than friendly, more than just a guest in his woodland halls. At first, he said nothing, taking a bit of water as the two began discussing the best way to infiltrate and take back the gems. When Sara stepped out, the cloak in place, the elvenking paused momentarily as he looked over her. She was beautiful… had she always been so ethereal? “Aranel, there is one more thing that your father left with me before departing. If you would.” Her gaze drifted between the two, but she timidly approached, visibly perplexed until he held up a crown. It was beautiful, and it held the same stone Thranduil’s did in the center, but it dangled in the middle of her forehead, the metal crafted to the likeness of ivy and leaves. She bowed her head as he placed it upon her, and when she straightened, she saw something gentle in his gaze. It wasn’t the pride her father had, but… it had disappeared as quick as it came, and her hazel then met Bard’s grey, the human bowing to her. “You’re lovely, Princess, fit to rule and ready for battle.”

She didn’t see the way Thranduil’s jaw tensed upon the human complimenting her, but his irritation grew when he saw the color return to her features, giving him a curtsey. “Th-thank you, Bard. I don’t know about ruling, but I will do what I can to help.” 

“You can help by not throwing yourself into something that would see your end,” Thranduil’s tone was almost biting, and Sara recoiled slightly. “Y-Yes, my King.” She took a seat on a close bench, silently admiring the weapons from her father as she thought. There had to be a way for her to get those gems for him, there had to be. She didn’t want to sit and be useless, but she feared his anger if she did something he wouldn’t approve of. Thranduil and Bard continued discussing things, with Bard wanting to speak with Thorin, hoping to make the dwarven king see reason. “You would try to reason with a dwarf?” 

“To avoid war, yes.” While Sara knew it wouldn’t work, her hope was still there, being in the moment much different than reading the books. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another figure comes from seemingly nowhere as the newest wizard reveals her identity before the battle.

Word had spread of the king’s insistence to take the mountain by force if Thorin would not relinquish those gems, and as Thranduil continued to speak with Bard in his tent, the sides were open, giving them view of the area around them. Erebor could be seen, and she admired the sight and architecture, thumbing over the blade the king had given her some time before. While she was lost in thought, she was startled, hearing Gandalf shout and storm past troops of elves, directly into the king’s tent. Someone was following him, but she couldn’t see who it was. “You must set aside your petty grievances with the dwarves. War is coming! The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied,” as Gandalf spoke, it was obvious Thranduil remained unafraid and determined as ever, but upon watching his features turn sarcastic, she bit her lip to stifle a giggle. While inappropriate, it made her smile. Bard had no idea of the things transpiring, but it was the elvenking who said it was probably nothing. “But you don’t know that,” another voice spoke. 

Sara became rigid. She knew that voice- she hadn’t heard it in… “Tanna?” It grew silent in the tent then, and Sara carefully stood, peeking around the old wizard. Right before her eyes stood her best friend, clad in beautiful grey robes and her curly hair fierce, as if it could combat any wind that threatened to muss it. Ocean blue met hazel, both speechless as they circled each other before Sara threw her arms around the lady wizard, hugging her tight. “Tanna! Oh! Baby girl, how did you get here?” 

“Peaches! It’s really you!” Both girls began to cry, with the princess holding the back of her friend’s head. “I heard something happen and I knew you weren’t okay! I even called the police and no one’s been able to find you! This is where you’ve been?” 

“Yeah, I… well, not the entire time. I was… held captive and escaped somehow, but I don’t know how I got out and… and King Thranduil’s been generous to allow me shelter within his halls.” Gandalf approached then, smiling at the girls once they’d parted. “If you would give us a moment, ladies. It gives you time to catch up.” 

Turning her hazel to her king, he inclined his head, but he seemed guarded. What it was, she couldn’t say, unaware his jealousy was growing once again. She gave him a curtsey, nodding to the others. “Thank you, my King, and thank you, Gandalf.” The girls had quickly burst from Thranduil’s tent, both still a flurry of emotion as they constantly embraced. Sara explained what she could, about running through the forest without a clue where she was, hunted by orcs, but saved by elves and brought to Thranduil’s halls. The woodland king had given her shelter, finding out she was half-elven, part fae, and part human. Sara was careful to explain that the fae within was turning her elven, and the conversation briefly paused. “How is that possible, Peaches?” She wasn’t sure, and they continued to talk about the symbols, how she was taken from her home, held captive for at least a decade, and the powers she was unlocking. 

“You really are as magical as moonlight then! Look at you, little star…” As Tanna teased the princess, her face began coloring furiously, hiding in her hands when her voice grew tiny. “Ohhh, that… that’s no fair! I am  _ not _ !” 

“You definitely are! How about I ask your king then, hmm?” Immediately, Sara shook her head, a pleading look on her features. “No, please… please don’t tell him. He doesn’t know that I… oh gods… I fell in love…” Her best friend was excited, thinking it was a good thing. “Why don’t you want him to know?” 

“I… I don’t want to be banished… it’s easier this way.” Tanna sighed heavily, hugging the elven princess. “Peaches, I love you, but this isn’t good for your heart. It’s holding you down, and how do you know he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings if you won’t try?” Sara sighed that time, rubbing her eyes. “Because he’s already lost the love of his life, and I know how elves mourn. He’ll never see me that way.” 

“Never say never… he looked pretty protective when Gandalf said we should talk alone.” Her eyebrows knit together at her friend’s remark, looking in the direction of the elvenking’s tent. “Really? You think so?”

“I know so. Peaches, he seemed like he didn’t want you out of his sight.” Sara chuckled awkwardly, explaining the reason for that, but even so, it didn’t sway the lady wizard from her stance. They’d begun to walk back to the tent, finding both Gandalf and Thranduil speaking heatedly to one another. The girls shared a look, falling silent and staying at the edge, neither one wanting to interrupt unless it became worse. “Aranel,” The old wizard called her, startling the princess, visibly jumping. “Perhaps you can convince your king to set aside his squabbles with the dwarves.” Her eyebrows rose, hazel briefly meeting the king’s challenging ice blue, then returned her stare to the wizard. “I… I can only do so much, Master Gandalf.” 

“Then try, at least. Ereala, come, we’re needed elsewhere, and to get some peace from the stubbornness of kings.” 

Before they departed, however, Gandalf stopped abruptly in front of Sara, staring at her curiously. “Wh-what is it?” 

“Lady Galadriel was right,” he shifted his weight with his staff. “You no longer have any human blood remaining within you. You are mostly elven now, with just a touch of the fae.” Her mouth fell open, but Tanna hugged her, just as disbelieving as she was. “Look at you! See! I told you! You’re as magical as the moon and stars and you can fight me!” A groan stuck in the princess’s throat, hiding her face against her friend’s shoulder as it darkened to the shade of beets. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she murmured. “Nah! You’re immortal, you’ll be  _ fine _ … Mostly.” Sara scoffed, but smiled, releasing her friend and watched as the two wizards departed. “See you later, starlight!” Tanna called over her shoulder, and the girl screeched, hiding her face as she sat down on a bench, hearing her friend cackling when the lady wizard began speaking to Gandalf about how thrilled she was to see her friend again.

“That seemed like a happy reunion,” Bard offered with a smile. When Sara raised her eyes, uncovering her face, she had a grin of her own. “It was, I… I haven’t heard from her in years. Not since… not since I was taken by the orcs.” Sara never saw the way Thranduil’s eyes snapped to her upon hearing her being called starlight, even moonlight struck a chord within him, and the more he looked over the princess in his care, the more he believed she truly was ethereal. “She’s given you interesting monikers. First, it is a fruit, then you are of the moon and stars according to your friend,” the elvenking stepped around his table, refilling his wine. “Tell me, Aranel, how did she come to give you those names?” The color that had drained from her features returned with a vengeance, hurriedly looking away from Thranduil and bit her lip. “I… well… She-she calls me Peaches because she thinks I’m sweet…” The king had closed his eyes, taking a sip of his wine. He knew that much for certain with each and every gesture he’d witnessed from her. “And the others?” She almost choked, unsure of how to explain. Where would she even begin? “She… she gave me those nicknames because she thinks that… that I’m like the moon or-or the stars. She… she finds them beautiful and… she thought it fit me.” 

“There’s much more complexity to the moon and stars than mere beauty, Aranel,” The Elvenking languidly strode around his tent as he explained.

“The moon and stars guide the way in darkness, bringing light and a hopeful comfort to those who seek it. Ever silent, ever watchful, they will continue to be beacons when all others will fall. Memories lie in the stars, their light glittering as gems amidst the oncoming darkness, both starlight and the light of the moon remain mysterious, and continues to be the one thing most seek to understand, or to find guidance in matters of the heart.” Whatever Sara had intended to say was gone, Thranduil rendered her speechless, unable to form even a coherent thought. While his words were eloquent as ever, his melodic baritone hypnotizing, she could do no more than sit in stunned silence, stammering. “I… I, um… S-She says that too, but I… I do not feel comfortable even relaying a message like that about myself, my King.” 

“Even if the words spoken are the truth?” If he’d rendered her speechless only moments before, the elvenking had successfully taken the air from her lungs with his question. Did he think she was… did he think she was like the moon and stars? Was he saying Tanna’s words were true?

Her hope once again became a roaring inferno, heart thrumming against her ribs like a bird trying to break free of its cage. “I… I don’t… I…” She couldn’t even speak properly. Thranduil’s conflict had risen again, realizing what had come from his mouth in a moment of distraction-  _ she _ was the distraction, and it was becoming unbearable to not be around her, power be damned. In the span of no time at all, Sara was the presence that haunted him, and his guilty pleasure. He’d come to find she was self-deprecating, something he did not enjoy, as she genuinely could not see the beauty she radiated. More than once, The Great Elvenking wanted to change it, giving into selfish desire and watching her when she was unaware. Though, each time, he was reminded of his loss, guilt rising up within him and turned away, his emotionless mask ever present on his features. “You don’t think your friend spoke the truth?” Bard cut through the silence, seeing the conflict within the elvenking’s sterling gaze, as well as the tenderness within them before Thranduil’s jealousy flared. He was becoming possessive over the faerie, taking a larger drink of wine upon realizing it. 

“Well, it’s… it’s not that I think she lied about it, but… I’ve never thought of myself that way. Humans where I came from-” she sighed heavily. “-they were cruel. Many often threw insults about just because they could. No provocation, no vengeance, merely because they wished to see another person belittle themselves.” 

“And this was common in your world?” She met Bard’s disbelieving grey and nodded. “Unfortunately, and it always happens to those who display any sort of kindness- they viewed it as weakness and often took advantage.” The human couldn’t find the words to reply. While he knew all too well how vindictive and cruel people could be, to find that most were like that in other places… “Then I assume you withdrew from a lot of people?” Sara nodded, her fingers twisting. “I… I did. Most of them, actually. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be nice and polite as I possibly can, but trust? That takes awhile to earn.” Thranduil’s eyes fell on her then, tilting his head slightly. She sounded almost like he did, having known betrayal and loss that made her isolate herself more often than she would go out and experience the world. She believed she’d seen enough of what the human race offered. 

“A hard-learned perspective, it seems,” the elvenking offered, and she inclined her head. Thankfully, the topic waned, and she let her head fall back, listening to the sounds around them. Wind could be heard, but because of the tent’s location, none entered, leaving them protected from the biting chill with the autumn evenings. Her gaze drifted to the likeness of Erebor’s entrance, knowing Smaug had obliterated it upon his assault of Lake Town, her mind wandering back to those gems to avoid war. Bard had departed, leaving her alone with Thranduil, but her mind remained on getting what the king was desperate to reclaim. They were heading toward the ruined city of Dale, which, if she judged correctly based on how long she’d been in Middle Earth, would take roughly under a fortnight. “You’ve been eyeing the mountain's likeness for some time, Aranel,” the elvenking startled her from her reverie. “And I can see you’re thinking on something. Are you hoping the arrangements take place with the dwarves?”

She cast one final look to the tapestry, eyebrows knit together in concentration. “Yes, and no,” she admitted. “Yes because if a war is coming, people will die, and I understand that happens, but… the dwarves and their blatant insults and greed will benefit no one, and they’ve no respect for anyone except their own race. It’s complicated… I know they can’t all be so crass, but…” He chuckled, pouring her a glass of wine and sat beside her. “Whether or not it comes to war remains to be seen. But if you’re referring to the war Mithrandir spoke of, you must remember that not all wizard warnings are absolute. Some merely frighten those who listen, nothing more.” Sara took a sip of wine and sighed. “If I’m scared about anything, it’s watching people I care for get hurt or die and leaving me unable to save them.” The king’s eyes were understanding, and he’d briefly thought of his late wife, surging his grief just momentarily. Feeling his pain, the princess’s eyes clenched shut, her hand in a fist as a sharp breath left her. “My King…?” It was then he remembered she could feel any strong emotion from him, and she’d felt his pain once more.

There was no point in lying, but neither would he apologize for mourning his late wife, especially not to the princess who’d conflicted him terribly in recent months. Her hazel met his sterling, her own reddened and she sniffed, offering a small grin. Sara knew he wouldn’t apologize for it, and she didn’t want him to, that wouldn’t have been right, as she had no ground to ask for such a thing. “You’re doing all you can, and even if people don’t see it, you care for your people, a lot more than other rulers that I’ve studied. And… I will still do whatever I can to help reclaim your gems.” He returned her grin with one of his own, sipping his wine to disguise the way his hand twitched to reach her. “And of your oath with my lands? Will you remain?” She nodded again, taking another drink. “I promised to stay, so yes, my lord, I will.” He became tense, wishing at that moment that she’d been asleep to not feel the relief washing over him. It had become so that he wanted not her power, but her. Yet… promises were sometimes broken, and his trust was a damaged thing. “We can speak it over more at another time.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara defies the Elvenking and has help in sneaking to the Mountain

With the human blood in her officially gone, Sara no longer felt the need to sleep. Not then, anyway. Because of this, and because Thranduil wouldn’t let her out of supervision, she could do no more than read, polish her armor, or examine her weapons, and the girl felt like she was losing her mind. They were traveling to Dale, at least, and that would give her new scenery, giving her just roughly under two weeks until they arrived and elves surrounded the entrance of Erebor. She’d heard plenty of discussion with her king and Bard, knowing what would come but never once spoke up as ideas of her own began to bloom. Maybe she could find a way to get out of being babysat by the guards, get the gems herself. Thankfully, when they journeyed to Dale, Thranduil would mount his giant elk, and Sara opted to walk with Tanna, the girls falling behind as the princess nudged her. “I need your help with something when we get to Dale,” she hissed, purposely ensuring the king couldn’t hear. Gandalf was elsewhere too. “Ooh, sneaky peachy girl!” The princess hurriedly covered her friend’s mouth in a panic, shaking her head. “Elves have impeccable hearing,” she breathed. “I don’t wanna get caught.” 

Stormy blue eyes grew confused, but she nodded, and Sara released her with a shuddering breath. “What’s up, sugarplum? What’s got you so freaked?” 

“I need your help. I’m going to get the gems for the king.” Her eyebrows rose, understanding, and the two huddled closer together. “What do you need?” Both girls were careful not to speak above a whisper, with the lady wizard well aware of why Sara wanted to do something so dangerous. “Can you do cloaking magic? Make me unseen for a distance?” 

“Yeah, I can do that, but Peaches, he’s going to know you’re gone- unless you’ve got a plan for that too?” The girl bit her lip, tapping her fingers. Neither the guards nor Thranduil would let her out of their sight anymore, not since she’d been caught tagging along.  _ Think!  _ “My brother- he’s great at distracting people. We can talk to him once we’ve settled, but do  _ not  _ let my father hear us.” Along the way, Sara bounded to her brother, whispering what she needed done. He, of course, wanted to join her, but she promised another time when things weren’t so crucial and there were less adept people around them. 

He agreed, and not a word was spoken near Thranduil. She did her best to remain passive as he talked about getting his gems back alongside Bard receiving some treasure for their aid. She would need to vanish when they arrived in Dale but before his army could besiege the mountain. The days passed, and it seemed that they arrived in hours instead of the former, her anxiety rising with each passing breath as her plan drew nearer to fruition. If things went well, she could snag the gems and bring them to her king, but if not… It didn’t matter. It was for him, she wanted to see Thranduil happy, that was all that mattered to her. The day finally came when they arrived in Dale, but she waited until after the mountain was surrounded, and Sara nodded to her brother, who’s method of distraction was to grab everyone’s tents and mismatch them, which meant people crossing each other trying to go back to their spots, and his voice loudly rang above everyone to make sure they were looking in his direction. Tanna, meanwhile, held the princess’s arms and began a whispering murmur, a spell, one that gave Sara some invisibility, or camouflage at the very least. Thranduil and Gandalf were still talking, arguing, and the faerie bolted straight for the mountain.

* * *

Sara wasn’t sure how soon her absence was missed, but used the cloaking spell to her advantage and drifted around the soldiers surrounding the entrance. Though it had taken two days, no one noticed her presence, as if she were entirely invisible to them all. One had heard a rock skid across the earth, a few picking their heads up, and she hid under cover of a fallen stone, holding her breath as they investigated around her. Satisfied nothing was out of the ordinary, the soldiers went back to their positions. Thankfully, the king had already faced against Thorin once, and wouldn’t be there again until Bilbo arrived, and she hoped she made it back in time, even if her absence was noticed. The entrance, while mostly destroyed by the dragon, was open for all to see, and carefully, Sara slipped inside, careful to avoid the splatter of gold along the way. She remembered the dwarves melting it to kill Smaug, but it didn’t phase the great beast. It was dark and foreboding inside the mountain, and she could hear the dwarves’ voices echo around her as if they were everywhere and nowhere at once. She could have sworn she heard Balin close by, stating things were changing with Thorin. 

Next was the faint murmuring of Bilbo, giving her the answer. Of course he was changing, the gold had corrupted him! She shook her head, feeling the cloaking magic wear off. At least she tucked in the shadows well enough. She delved downstairs, finding the den of gold and jewels stretching as far as the eye could see. With so much before her, she could almost understand the greed. “White gems of Lasgalen,” she murmured softly, clamping a hand over her mouth upon hearing more voices. “Dwalin, that chest there, see that it sits at the throne. I know an elvenking who will pay a pretty price for those gems.” Hazel eyes widened, turning her stare upward.  _ Thorin, you asshole!  _ Once she could no longer hear them, Sara began to creep upstairs, briefly passing Bilbo. Immediately, the hobbit stopped and pulled her arm. “Aranel, what are you  _ thinking  _ coming here? Did Thranduil send you?” She shook her head, breath shaking. “No, he… he didn’t. I snuck out. Why are you down here?” 

“For a bargaining chip,” he offered, and she knew what he was after. The Arkenstone. “Be careful, Aranel, Thorin’s… changed. If you’re discovered, I do not know what he’ll do.” She inclined her head, carefully journeying up through the mountain castle to see if she could find those gems unattended by said throne. She was halfway up when she heard the dwarf king speak. “The elven princess has infiltrated my domain, and for what purpose?” She froze, swallowing thickly and turned, finding his gaze unhinged, almost like he had been in some kind of hallucination. “I know, you seek to claim those gems for a certain king, because you wish to prove… what? Loyalty? Or Love?” Hazel eyes averted as she raised her hands in surrender, earning an equally maddened smile from Thorin. “Oh, so it is both. Then it looks as though the Great Elvenking will be bargaining for more than just rocks. Take her.” 

She had been staring down the dwarf king so much that she didn’t see the other dwarves approach, all of them stunned to find her in their halls. Gloin lifted her, roughly, clasping her wrists in irons that made her skin sear. “Take them off!” She screamed, tearing away from the dwarf and confusing the others. “Please, take them off! They burn! They’re burning me!” Startled, the redheaded dwarf removed the irons to find her skin puckered and blistering, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “Durin’s beard! Is that the faerie you spoke of in Thranduil’s dungeons?” Balin had approached, pulling her away from them despite Thorin’s glare and she nodded, the elder dwarf taking her somewhere more private to address her wounds. “Forgive him, lassie, he’s not himself.” She sniffed, her breath hitching in pain as he put salve and bandages around her wounds. “Bilbo… Bilbo told me, I just… I wanted to help my King…” There was a certain sympathy in the elder dwarf’s eye, but before he could say anything, Thorin entered, holding another set of shackles. 

“If you think we’re just going to release you, an arrogant elf, back to her master, then you’re mistaken. They’re steel.” He tossed the shackles at Balin, watching carefully and the wizened dwarf had no choice but to comply. “Keep her where she can’t slip through, someone needs to be watching her at all times.” Sara whimpered, attempting to stifle her tears when two more dwarves entered. Bofur and Kili, both lifting her gently and taking her deep within the mountain, but both of them sat with her as she cried. “We never got to thank you for helping Bilbo back in Mirkwood,” Bofur offered quietly. “We figure a lass like you has her reasons, but still… you have our thanks, miss.” She met his warm brown eyes with weary hazel, finding him sincere and gave a sad smile. "I… I just… I wanted to help… seems my wanting to do good for both is only biting me in the ass." 

"Is what Thorin said true?" Kili asked quietly. "Do you really love the elvenking?" There was no point in lying, and she knew he loved Tauriel, inclining her head slightly as her eyes filled with sadness. "But he doesn't see me the way I see him. He's grieving, he would never even look in my direction." 

“You can’t say that for certain!” Kili’s expression had become adamant. “I fell in love with Tauriel, and I think she may like me, so it’s worth knowing, isn’t it?” It settled within her then, not all dwarves were greedy or crude to anyone not of their kind. Kili, Bofur, Balin, even Gloin had been kind, apologizing for the burns upon seeing what the iron had done to her. “Stay with her a minute, Bofur, I’m gonna grab a thing or two.” Confused, as was Bofur, Sara had opened her mouth to speak, but Kili had vanished quickly, only to return with thick, wooden steins that were filled to the brim with…  _ mead _ ! Oh, she couldn’t mistake that honeyed scent anywhere, even in Middle Earth. “We should see about getting her to the elven soldiers outside,” Bofur suggested after taking a swig. “Their king finds out and it’s liable to be all our heads.” She looked between them, not daring to hope for an escape, but curious as to how they would do it. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil noticed almost immediately that Sara was gone, no one thinking anything of it at first- not until Bilbo arrives with the Arkenstone.

Meanwhile, Thranduil had noticed Sara’s absence the instant camp had settled for the evening. As things would quiet, she often kept to the tent, a book in hand or would eat silently, isolated from everyone. He was unaware of her scheme to get the gems herself in her unwavering loyalty, never spotting her departure though he noticed she was nowhere to be seen after being in Dale for only a night. At first, he assumed she had gotten caught up with her family, or with the lady wizard, but half the night had gone by and she hadn’t been around. Rinnion had stopped by his tent to share a glass of wine then, the two kings discussing the potential war to come. “Your daughter doesn’t seem fond of the idea,  _ mellon _ , but she’s quite understanding to it.” 

“Yeah, she keeps to herself and watches everything, it helps her get a better viewpoint on all angles of a situation. Speaking of which, where is she?” Confusion shone bright in ice blue, meeting Rinnion’s hazel. “I was under the impression Aranel was spending time with you.” The Western king hurriedly finished his wine and strode to the edge of the tent, peering around everyone. “Haven’t seen her in hours. Ah, she might be off with her friend.” But the woodland elvenking wasn’t sure, his own gaze drifting over various faces for any sign of her. “Perhaps. Still, we should probably have her located to make sure.”

Rinnion waved it off at first. “If she’s not back by morning, we’ll go from there. She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.” Thranduil, while confident in her abilities, didn’t want to take chances, but didn’t mention as much to her father. When he departed, Thranduil met with the commander of his forces. “Have a patrol sent out to find Princess Aranel and bring her to me the instant she’s spotted. And give the order- if anything moves on that mountain, kill it.” He had taken it as a slight, a blatant disregard for his orders to remain where she was, even though she’d never once disobeyed him when he gave an order. He wouldn’t say it, he couldn’t even fathom the panic rising in his chest, constricted and unable to breathe. Where was she? She’d become something to him that he couldn’t be without, the very air he needed to breathe, his guiding starlight in the midst of his darkened existence, but each time his thoughts drifted to her, of wanting to touch her, to steal her breath as she’d done to him, his guilt would rise. It had only been two years since she’d come to his kingdom, he couldn’t have been falling for the princess. Yet deep within him, she awoke something that hadn’t been called forth in agonizingly long years. It was simultaneous torture and bliss. It was as though he’d lost his wife only months ago, not years, but Sara… 

No one reported back to him that night, nor the following day, and each time he’d spotted another of his patrols returning empty-handed, he sent them back out to find her. “We’ve turned over everything, my lord,” one protested, and the elvenking’s eyes narrowed as his jaw clenched. “Turn it over again,” he spat. “Another word of complaint from you and you will be the first to enter the mountain against the dwarves.” The elf scrambled back and was immediately leading the next search, earning a heavy sigh from the king. Every inch of their camp had been combed through, even the humans were searching for the elven princess, earning Bard’s attention. “My lord Thranduil, seems my people are searching for the princess along with your own.” He was in the king’s tent, watching as Thranduil paced, drinking more wine than was advisable. At first, the elvenking didn’t acknowledge his presence, and as the human had opened his mouth again to speak, he saw the emotion the elf was fighting with once again. He worried for her, there was more in his eye than just common friendliness though his features betrayed nothing. 

“She disobeyed me,” he finally managed, shoulders tense. “I gave her an order and she disobeyed me.” Bard remembered what the elvenking had said before to the girl, telling her to remain in his tent above all else. “Where would she have gone, do you know?” Thranduil shook his head, not a hair out of place as he strode around in his black robes. “None. She hasn’t been with her family and there’s no sign of the lady wizard, but I suspect she’s with Mithrandir…” He trailed off in thought, consuming more wine as the day passed into another. Still, Sara couldn’t be found. While angered that she disobeyed him, the king’s worry grew higher. Something was wrong, he felt it in his being, something happened to her. What if they had an infiltration and she was taken? Fresh rage resurfaced- he  _ told  _ her to stay in the Greenwood, why couldn’t she just  _ listen _ ? The battle within his mind was a constant, wanting the gems and worrying where the princess was. Even her father was growing worried for his only daughter, sending his own patrols out to find her. It should have been easier to find her then, but the Western elves had also turned up empty-handed after three more days of searching. 

Meanwhile, Sara was kept under constant supervision, always a different dwarf. They changed shifts frequently, alternating between checking the horizon for the Iron Hills dwarves, watching her, or discussing what would come with Thorin. She enjoyed when it was Bofur, Kili, or Balin that had duties to watch her; Balin would change her bandages and clean her burns, apologizing for their lack of knowing. “It’s not Elvish medicine, but it gets the job done.” She sniffed, giving him a small smile to show her appreciation, but the burns hurt beyond anything she’d felt since the scars on her chest. “Thank you, Master Balin.” He pat her shoulder as Bofur brought her a meal. Though a prisoner in the mountain’s halls, those who weren’t suspicious of her would ensure she was fed at the very least, yet none of them could sneak her out, too afraid of the potential that either of them may suffer injury, exile, or that she would be tortured to get the elvenking’s attention. 

“Kili, join your brother. I have some questions for our ‘guest’.” Sara swallowed thickly, and Kili hesitated, but Thorin shot him a hardened glare, the dwarf prince leaving soon after. “Tell me,  _ princess _ , just what would your king say upon seeing you in these halls?” She shook her head, turning her eyes away from the dwarven king. “I wouldn’t know, I’m just a guest in His Majesty’s home.” 

“Oh, I doubt you’re just a simple guest, elf. You’ve got to be worth something, and when he finds you missing, I will have the upper hand, won’t I?” She knew it was the gold sickness making him even more of an asshole, but it didn’t change the way she tightly closed her eyes, feeling them sting. “He doesn’t care for me that way, how many times do I have to tell you?!” Thorin advanced on her, but Sara didn’t waver, hazel eyes open and glaring at the dwarf. “You have more worth to him than you even know, and it would be my pleasure to discuss an arrangement. But first, you can tell me all of your precious king’s plans with my mountain.” 

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t open her mouth. Frustrated, the dwarf king cornered her between a wall and himself, staring daggers into her. “Make no mistake, you  _ will  _ tell me why you’ve come. I know he seeks more than the gems, otherwise you wouldn’t have been sent.” He left her there, still bound by steel shackles, but the way his unhinged smile spread made her stomach clench, and the princess didn’t think the sick king would be above torturing her for information she didn’t have. All Thranduil wanted was the gems. She’d snuck away to get them, to avoid war, but the paranoia of Thorin revealed her presence in the mountain and she was held prisoner, the dwarf king insisting that she was worth something to her elvenking. She wasn’t. Sara knew Thranduil only wanted those gems, it didn’t matter who he went through, as he never kept anyone close anymore except his own son, and even then, he was at arm’s length. She snuck away to get them because… she loved him. She loved him more than her own life, and was willing to die to see him happy. 

It wasn’t until the following night when Bilbo had turned up at Thranduil’s tent. Gandalf had been insistent for the elvenking to call the thing off, and while Tanna accompanied him, she remained silent, her eyes carefully on the floor as to not give away knowledge of Sara’s absence. Embittered by the king’s refusal to stand down, the wizards stepped outside, meeting Bard just outside the tent. “His goals cannot possibly be your own!” The old wizard insisted. “We cannot afford to go to war!” 

“It won’t come to that,” Bard’s tone was defensive. “They cannot possibly win with what little they have.” Tanna’s mouth had parted, wanting to speak up, to say something, as her worry for her friend grew to heights she’d never known before, but Bilbo had arrived before she could utter a sound. “If you think they won’t go down fighting, you’re wrong,” the hobbit breathed. It was as though he ran to get to them. “But I bring something that could turn the tides in everyone’s favor, as well as news.” 

Bilbo was led into Thranduil’s tent, the elvenking knowing instantly that he was the Halfling who’d broken the dwarves from his dungeons. “If I’m not mistaken, this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.” The hobbit shuffled awkwardly for a moment, admitting as much in a small voice before hurriedly apologizing, stepping further inside. Thranduil was unamused, though Bard grinned, impressed with the hobbit’s actions. “I came,” Bilbo stepped to the table, laying something in front of the elvenking. “To give you this.” Within the cloth he carried was the Arkenstone, and both Thranduil and Bard stood at once, mystified over the glowing white stone before them. “The heart of the mountain,” the elvenking’s tone was one of hushed wonder. “The king’s jewel.” 

“And worth a king’s ransom,” Bard added. “That isn’t all, I bring news. Princess Aranel is trapped in the mountain.” A small cry stuck in Tanna’s throat, but the only one to notice was Gandalf, eyes narrowing curiously. “Aranel… she’s…  _ in  _ the mountain? What possessed her to-” Bilbo shook his head, clearing his throat. “She snuck in to reclaim your gems, Thorin caught her before she could get them. She’s being held prisoner as ransom, but this,” he gestured to the stone. “This is worth more to Thorin than anything in that mountain. Present this to him, and I’m sure he’ll give you anything, or any _ one _ , you want as payment. There would be no need for war.”

Thranduil’s heart sank, as did his stomach, and he retreated a few steps as Bard’s curiosity grew. “How did you come by this? You owe us no loyalty.” The hobbit shook his head. “I didn’t do it for you. I know dwarves can be difficult,” he continued to state everything he disagreed with before commending their loyalty and kindness. “I would save them if I can, and… the princess has done no wrong to anyone, she only wished to bring you wanted most. Her loyalty could rival theirs, she was unshakeable in wishing to obtain them.” The elvenking took a breath to steady himself, his mask wavering. “Why would she… I  _ ordered  _ her to remain in this tent, and she deliberately disobeyed me-” He stopped himself, drinking more wine. She was in the mountain, being held prisoner for ransom. “You said she was being held ransom,” Bard nudged the hobbit. “Ransom for what?” 

“Thorin believes she has value, and wanted to know what she knew of any battle strategy. The princess wouldn’t budge, if she knew anything at all.” 

The elvenking paced, worry evident in his eyes as well as the furiousness that he was disobeyed, and the intrigue at having the Arkenstone right on his table. “You believe the Arkenstone will not only give us what we seek, but the princess would be released?” Again, Bilbo inclined his head, then began to step out. “Master Baggins,” Thranduil called. “Perhaps you should stay to avoid the dwarf king’s rage.” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. They are my friends, and Aranel is too. A few are looking after her, but they cannot protect her from Thorin either.” Tanna was shuffling nervously, hands fidgeting with her hair and twisting in front of her, still refusing to meet anyone’s eye, and it was as though her breath quickened, hurriedly wiping a few tears from her eyes. Sara had been taken for ransom, and she believed it was her fault. Bilbo had gone to return back to the mountain, leaving them all in states of simultaneous wonder and horror, but they had a bargaining chip, a powerful one. “Why would she sneak off to do such a thing?” The elvenking wondered. “Why indeed,” Gandalf answered cryptically. 

“You know something, Mithrandir, and though I admire your loyalty to the dwarves, my course is not dissuaded. You know why she took off for the mountain.” At first, no one answered, not even Gandalf, the wizard’s intentions unclear before Bard spoke. “You don’t see it, my Lord Thranduil? You truly cannot see why the princess left in pursuit of those gems?” He sighed, his chest constricting in his panic for her. He hadn’t been able to breathe with her absence, and Bard’s question dared to bring hope that he didn’t even attempt to grasp. “Her loyalty is something that I quite admire, but-” 

“It isn’t loyalty, you arrogant ass!” Tanna snapped finally, tears swimming down her cheeks, sparking a brighter anger from the king before Gandalf and Bard stepped in. “In the time you’ve known her, have you not seen the way she looks at you, the way you’ve certainly looked at her?” It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be! There was no way she was- “The princess is in love with you, Lord Thranduil.” Immediately, the elvenking sat down, staring blankly at the Arkenstone before him. “It was love that guided her to defy your orders, not loyalty,” Gandalf finally spoke, just before Tanna intervened again. “All she wanted was to make you happy, and if not with her, then with something she felt she was capable of getting  _ for  _ you. She thought… she thought bringing you the gems would set your mind at ease, she didn’t care one way or the other if war happened, she only wanted to bring you peace.” 

If what they were telling him was true, then the implication was there that Sara would have died to make him happy. “Love…” Even the thought of her loving him was more than he dared to ask for, but now he knew, at least from those around him, that she had only left to bring him something he wanted, because she wanted to make him happy. It left him rattled, unable to speak, knowing that the affections he was suspicious of her having were for him, not for anyone else, and his silent attraction to her wasn’t misplaced. The guilt rose within him again, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration. “She isn’t asking for you to be with her,” Tanna continued, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “She knows you’re grieving and she doesn’t think she has a chance, but she wanted to get you at least those gems so you could do with them as you chose.” The more he listened, the more tempted he grew to ride out that instant with the Arkenstone and bring her back. Back to him. Yet he grew suspicious that if he rode out then, something would happen to her. If it hadn’t already. 

No, no it would do no good to think that way. With a heavy sigh, he stood once more, wrapping the Arkenstone before handing it to Bard. “We leave at first light. This should prove useful to us.” After the human had taken the stone and departed, presumably to get some kind of rest, and eyes of steel fell on stormy blue, watching the lady wizard as something occurred to the elvenking. “You’re the reason why she was able to get away.” She was glaring at him, but he saw how her fingers trembled before she clenched them into fists, defiant to the end. “I don’t regret a damn thing, either. If things were different, I’d do it again.” Thranduil quirked an eyebrow, but with his mind on Sara, on bringing her back, he said nothing. With the realization that the princess loved him, his conflict was fading, but this reminded him of the way he’d lost his wife in Gundabad, and he refused to let it happen again. Gandalf had led Tanna away, the king finally alone, his eyes closing tightly and willing his eyes not to sting. “I will bring you home,  _ ithildin _ , I swear it.” 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Thranduil knows the real reason Sara bolted for the mountain, as well as why she snuck along on the trip. The battle begins.

The next morning, Sara was pacing, seeing that Bilbo had returned. Mercifully, the two were given space as they talked, the hobbit informing her that he’d told Thranduil where she was. Which meant she was in a  _ lot  _ of trouble. “He’s worried about you, Aranel. You might not see it, but I saw it well enough just last night. He cares, he’s on his way.” Hope and dread entwined within her, and the elven girl nodded solemnly. “And… and the stone,” she whispered. “They have it?” Before he could utter another word, they heard the dwarves murmuring that Thranduil and Bard had arrived, and she was grabbed roughly by the wrist, thrown against the overlook. She saw him. Sara saw her elvenking, wearing the royal armor she’d seen before, regal as ever on his elk, and she swallowed, breathing in short bursts. “It appears that I now have a bit more leverage than you anticipated with this infiltrator in our midst.” Thorin tugged her hair back and she winced. When her eyes opened, looking to the Elvenking below, sitting beside Bard on their separate mounts, she was too far to see how his face contorted into one of panic. Panic for  _ her _ , she had no idea that her biggest secret was now common knowledge. 

Thranduil’s jaw clenched, blue eyes fading to white in unbridled rage. Sara… she was shackled, and he saw bandages on her wrists. Whatever they had done, Thorin would pay with his life. “I would think we’re the ones who have leverage,” the elvenking called, his mask in place as he smirked to the dwarves above. Casting a glance to Bard, the human removed the Arkenstone from his breast pocket and displayed it openly, its glimmer blinding against the sun. Never having seen the stone before, Sara was in awe despite her hitched breathing, terrified that Thranduil was angry with her- she  _ knew  _ he was. “You can have this returned to you, and our good will, if you just give us what we’re owed, and release the princess unharmed.” Thorin had loosened his grip upon seeing the stone, enough for Sara to yank herself away, but the dwarf king gripped her arm. “Thieves!” Kili shouted. “How came you by the heirloom of our house?!” 

“It is a trick,” Thorin murmured, his eyes narrowing. “The Arkenstone lays in the treasure horde below, they cannot sway us with lies. It is a fake!” 

“No, it isn’t,” Bilbo intervened, taking Sara’s hand to pull her away. “It is very real. I gave it to them.” Thorin’s hold tightened, jerking her back and she inhaled sharply, her armor cutting into her skin. “You,” the dwarven king hissed. “You did this? You betrayed me?” 

“No, I didn’t betray you. You’ve changed, Thorin, you’re holding a princess hostage, you’ve turned cruel to those who’ve had your back since day one. You’re sick. Just… give them what they ask, and release the princess. No blood has to be shed this day.” The rage in the dwarf king had become unstable, and took Sara by the back of her neck, pushing her against the parapet and inciting a yelp from the princess. Thranduil tensed, forcing himself not to dismount lest she be thrown over. “Would the elven _ king _ care to know a little information we discovered about our infiltrator?” He gripped the reins tighter as Thorin had removed something from his armor, pressing it against her cheek. Iron. Sara screamed as it was placed directly under her eye, the other dwarves scrambling to remove their king from her, her own king shifting to dismount. The pain she was in seared his nerves, her scream burning into his memory and dread coiled in his stomach. 

Just as she was pulled away, her savior none other than Balin unchaining her, Thorin lunged for Bilbo in an attempt to throw him off. Two voices echoed in the air, heavily laced in threat. Gandalf and Tanna, both furious that their friends were suffering. In Thorin's distraction, Bofur and Balin took the hobbit and the princess, urging them to go, to get out, but Sara scrambled toward the throne before anyone saw, reaching into the small chest and tore the necklace from its resting place, a handful of the starlight gems going with her. With it in her pocket, she ran quicker than she ever had in her life, leaping down the stairs and bolted from the halls, feeling the heat of the sticky crimson trail below her eye. She’d made it out, not far from her king alongside Bard, her legs shaking and threatening to give out beneath her. Bard, being the closest, offered his hand to the princess, which she promptly took, being swung to Thranduil himself. He easily caught her, one arm keeping her pressed to his chest. The adrenaline began to dissipate, and soft cries shook her chest, hiding against the elvenking’s armor. She was in so much trouble. She knew he would banish her for this one, or execute her for defying his orders. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry, my King. I-I just-” 

Before she could utter another syllable, she heard footfalls, an army’s worth. She sniffed, picking her head up. Oh no… the dwarves of the Iron Hills. Thranduil tightened his hold on her, turning his massive Elk and dug his heels into the animal, sending them off at a run. There was no time to take her back to his tent, no time to tell her he knew why she did the things she did. He cradled the back of her head protectively, and her own arms went around his chest, unable to link her hands because of his size and his armor preventing as much.  _ I love you _ … The words burned her tongue, longing to be free, but she wouldn’t get the chance in that moment. “When I release you, Aranel, you are to run straight for the city and don’t look back.” She shook her head vehemently, her fingers twisting in his cloak. “N-No, please… I can help. I can-” 

“One defiance of my orders has been enough. You will do as I say. I’ll be fine, but you have no weapons and you need to defend yourself. Defend what you can of the city.” She swallowed, turning her gaze up to his. He was still angry, she saw it, but even then, she didn’t want to let him go. She heard hoofbeats close beside them, finding Tanna, the lady wizard offering her hand. 

“I’ll take her to get her weapons, we’ll stay in the city.” Briefly, the elvenking held Sara a little tighter, his jaw set before he sighed, releasing the princess from his hold. Had something happened- did they get into a fight over something? The elven princess whimpered, hiding against Thranduil’s chest once more, overcome with the urge to kiss him but refrained, unwillingly going with her friend. She wanted to protect him, protect both of them, as well as her family, but… orders were orders. She could cry about things later. With a heavy swallow, she dismounted with his help, getting behind Tanna on the chestnut mare, the lady wizard bolting from the area. Sara hugged her friend, tears falling rapidly as her shoulders shook. “Hang tight, Peaches, we’re almost there…” She felt terrible for pulling her friend away from the elf she loved, but she was in more agreement to keep her safe above all else. “You know he’ll be all right, right?” The princess hiccupped, a small nod leaving her as her face remained pressed to Tanna’s back. “I-I know but… but I’m scared. I could lose him- or you, or my brother, or my dad-  _ again _ . I can’t take any of that.” 

They’d arrived at Thranduil’s tent, the campground barren and deathly silent as everyone else was on the field. Before they entered, the girls embraced for awhile, then Sara crept in, kneeling at the crate from her father. The bow was on her back, the dual-ended spear behind it, then the blade from the king was fastened to her inner thigh, the other two daggers on the outer. Finally, her sword was sheathed at her hip. They were light, easy enough to move around in. “You look ready to kill some bitches,” Tanna was beaming at her, and she knew it was to take her mind off of Thranduil, earning a small grin. “I think I am… Tanna, I… I never got to show him… I never got to tell him-” Before the lady wizard could admit that he already knew, she reached into the pouch on her belt, opening it carefully and revealed the dwarven-made necklace. “He… he wasn’t supposed to… to get these in the movie, but… Tanna, I had to. Even if he’ll never see me the way I see him, I… I hope it makes him smile.” 

“Oh, honey…” They embraced again, hearing shouts around them and Sara tied the pouch, tucking it safe under her armor. 

“That’s our cue,” She breathed, the two creeping around corners to find the source of the shouting. Her brother, which meant her father was fighting dwarves with Thranduil. Gods… the ballistas… Unsure whether her father would make it, she was ordered to stay in the city to help defend it, and upon the girls spotting her brother, Sara ran to him, embracing him quickly. “Jesus sis… the fuck happened to your eye?” 

“Thorin… he put some kind of iron on my skin…” His jaw clenched, gripping his axe tight, but she stopped him. “We need to stay and defend this place-” The ground shook, followed by the sound of an all too familiar warcry. Orcs. Sara removed the dual-ended spear from her back and twirled it, getting a feel for the thing. It felt like another part of her. Before the three began running toward the sound, the princess pressed her hand to the soil, her body illuminating and a tree began to grow, almost in rapid succession, encased in vines. She felt their defensiveness, knowing what she knew, and took her friend’s hand, pushing her brother forward. “Time to go.” 

“What was that? What did you just do?” 

“Stalling. Just… don’t go near them.” Curious, her brother tossed a pebble, and one of the vines snapped out, flicking it away. “It’s not much, but it gives us a little time to get anyone out. Let’s go.” They weaved around crumbling ruins and people screaming, and each of them brought the frightened people to a safe location, one that would allow them to flee without being detected. In the midst of doing so, evening drew near. Had it really been hours since that morning when Thranduil showed up? With most of the people gone, the stone echoed their footfalls, but Sara heard rustling. All on the defensive, poised and ready to strike at the first threat, a head of silvery blonde hair stalked toward them, a bow aimed for their heads with three arrows. “Legolas?” 

“Aranel? How-” The princess bolted to him, her weapon at her back, hugging her friend fiercely. “Long story. Where have you been?” As he explained, those pale orbs of his would drift toward Tanna in curiosity, and she noticed her friend had started to drift behind her, shy. A wicked smile crept on the elven girl’s features. “Forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you, miss. Are you an enchantress? I’m Legolas of the Greenwood.” 

Taking that as her cue to step aside, Sara inched her friend closer, seeing the color flare to life in her face, her stormy blue eyes brightening. “I…  _ Peaches! _ ” Tanna laughed nervously, almost giggling, earning a snort from her friend. “I am, actually- an enchantress! I’m Grey Ereala- I mean Ereala the Grey!” Both Sara and her brother were snorting, but the princess shoved her brother aside so her friend could have a moment with the blonde elven prince. “Ereala, it’s like the melody of birds at first light, cheerfully greeting the dawn. I wish circumstances were better,  _ aerlinn _ , but I’m quite pleased to meet you regardless.” Sara wondered if Tanna knew he’d used the Sindarin word for song, that he was affectionately referring to her as a siren, but surely his tender smile gave it away… The blush was definitely rising in her friend, and Legolas tucked a lock of wild curls behind her ear. “Perhaps you’ll allow me the chance to know you once the battle is done?” The lady wizard squeaked, hiding her face, but she nodded, adding one more to their company. At least one of them had some form of luck. 

With it being quiet, and three elves possessing keen hearing, once they were sure things were settled, the four set up a small camp. Tanna started a small fire to keep them warm while Legolas gathered rabbits with Sara’s brother, and the princess began working on herbs to heal her iron wounds. She couldn’t take her mind off of Thranduil. What would he do? Would he banish her, execute her, even when she presented the jewels to him? Hazel turned and saw Legolas in full conversation with Tanna, and not wanting to interrupt their happy moment, gave them their space. She was giggling and blushing, shyly speaking with the elf prince who was only too happy to sit close, and that was when Sara recognized it. It was a stronger expression than he’d ever given Tauriel, and she wondered if her friends were developing feelings for one another so soon. Love at first sight? “How’s that herb blend coming?” Her brother startled her from her reverie, and Sara peered into the small bowl of crushed and chewed herbs, dabbing a little under her eye, then on her wrists. 

Almost instantly, the sharp throbbing and dull aches had begun to vanish, and she sighed with a relieved grin. “Much better. I love being an elf, even if I’m only three quarters.” He nudged her and sat beside her, taking the mixture and dotting where she’d missed. “Might be the faerie magic you got too, sis. Even Elven medicine takes its time. This… whatever you did, the red’s fading from your wrists already. Who bandaged you in the mountain?” She’d explained about them not knowing what iron would do, and Balin bandaged her to the best of his abilities, then went into detail of how the shifts would change but that some actually fed her and even tried to let her sneak out. “What stopped them?” 

“Thorin. He was paranoid to think that I would disappear like-” she snapped her fingers. “-so he always hung around with a glazed look in his eyes. Dude, that gold… there’s  _ miles  _ of it down there. I’ve never seen so much in my life, it’s fucked him up.” Her brother scoffed, shaking his head and set aside the herbs, turning the food over. “It’s not the gold that the mouthbreather has to worry about.” 

Sara didn’t reply, she knew her brother was pissed, probably her father too, and she knew Tanna was… What did Thranduil think? Or did he not care? The last question had sparked an ache within her, and she barely touched a bite of her food that night. Orcs, thinking the silence was their opportune moment, had begun to silently drop in, searching to claim the city, their first stop before taking the mountain.  _ “There you are, meleth-nin…”  _ Sara became rigid upon hearing Sauron’s voice. The sick bastard even had the audacity to sound affectionate. No one else heard him- he was still in her head.  _ Not now… not with the battle going on!  _ There were still three of the six symbols remaining and holding the barrier of more memories, but the dark lord was unperturbed.  _ “I’ve missed you, darling, but I know you’ll be back where you belong soon enough. You’ll have to excuse my commanders when they bring you home.”  _ He continued to speak, but the sound was becoming distorted, fading before it was gone, and she felt something push against her conscious before a light illuminated above her head. The crown! Thranduil said it was from her father, but did he also enchant his will over it to keep Sauron from her mind?

Not taking the thing off, she hurriedly took the rabbits from the fire before stamping out the embers. “We have to go,” she hissed. Then, she heard snapping, followed by shouts of anger in Black Speech. The orcs had found the tree with the vines, the flora attacking and giving the four a jump on them. As one tried cutting the vines from its leg, Sara crept on the stinking, hulking beast and removed the blade Thranduil had given her, finding it glowing a beautiful shade of clear ocean blue and she cut the orc’s throat, the blade going halfway through with little to no effort. “Jesus… what the hell did my king give me?” Legolas snorted, him and Tanna taking a further distance. As one hailed arrows upon the invading orcs, she used her magic, blasting fire and sending them ablaze. Her brother barreled into them, axes going in the heads of two at once. He swung his arms, sending the orcs flying into others that were attempting to catch them off guard. 

She could hear the fighting in the field, her heart aching terribly for her king and desperately praying her father was still alive. Dawn was approaching, their defense against the orcs effective enough that they retreated from the sun, giving them a few hours peace, but their corpses filled the air with a putrid stench, the scents of feces and rot assaulting her nostrils. Grateful she hadn’t eaten much, she made a face, the four finding somewhere else to defend. If the orcs weren’t bad enough, it was the Iron Hills dwarves making their way inside the city. Sara and James shared a look, a silent conversation between them before the princess called over her shoulder. “ _ Mellon _ ! Legolas, stay with my friend! Don’t let her get hurt!” 

“ _ Thel-im, meldis _ !” The prince and princess of the Western Lands shared another glance and began running toward the sound, Sara’s brother running one way and she took another. “Peaches, look out!” When Tanna shouted, her friend whirled, finding three dwarves running at her full speed. The lady wizard incinerated one, and the princess took her dual-ended spear, crouched and spun, ripping open the dwarven armor and sending them crumbling in their own blood. 

“I think they shit themselves!” She shouted back. “Unless that’s chez dwarf via the unbathed menu!” Her brother laughed outright, Legolas chuckling, and Tanna snorted. “I don’t even wanna find out,” her brother called. Carefully, the four drifted through the broken roads and alleys, sometimes having to take other methods when they couldn’t cross a patch that was no more than pieces of the lake. Legolas and her brother acrobatically leapt from one building to another, but Sara stayed with Tanna, the girls maneuvering through and searching for hostile presences. A few orcs hid within the ruined homes and old shops of stone, an archer in position and aiming for her brother. Tanna set its clothes on fire, the thing screaming and alerting everyone within the ruins to their presence. More orcs ran out in the sun, ready to flay them all, one catching Sara’s leg with a crudely carved sword. She screamed and turned sharply, swinging her spear and taking its head from its shoulders. The cold numbed the sensation almost instantly, and Tanna threw some of the herb she’d had for the princess to heal herself. “Cover me!”

Legolas and James were the equivalent of sentries, the princes both wielding bows and multiple arrows, firing shot after shot and sending more orcs and dwarves to their demise. Sara finished chewing and placing the healing herb on her wound, tearing a piece of a discarded cloth and made a tourniquet, getting to her feet. Another day was ending, and the battle still wasn’t over, but… things quieted a little. The blonde elven prince went to Tanna’s side, finding her weary and brought her under cover so she could rest a little while James continued watch. It gave the princess a moment to get her bearings, wiping her blades down. Neither of them spoke, not wanting to draw any attention before Tanna whispered an apology. “I’m sorry, Peaches… I didn’t think another orc would…” But Sara shook her head, taking her friend’s hand. “Sweetie, it’s fine, I promise. Elves have this uncanny healing skill that I picked up since I’ve been here. It’ll be good as new by morning, I promise.” She offered a small, tired smile, noting that the brunette was inching closer to Legolas, his own grin growing and he bit his lip, helping her lean against his shoulder so she could sleep.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day three of the Battle and everything gets flipped upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the events are skewed in terms of who fell and what have you, I ask you to please bear with me, as it will be amended in the future.

The third day of the battle had come upon them, and the four were up before sunrise, hearing the telltale cries of orcs at the very gates of the city, of clashing swords, and it was time to get up, to continue the fight. Tanna, while weary, had Legolas as a constant companion, and Sara began searching through the defense towers, a lot of them dilapidated as the rest of the city. James had rushed against a pack of orcs, the fight seemingly too easy for the western elvish prince, who eliminated one after another in rapid succession. As the sun rose, the orcs grew bolder, neither of them knowing that Thranduil had had enough on the field and was searching to get his gems. Sara was safe, she had to be. He charged the orcs threatening to invade the city, each of them running toward his elk as if he were an easy target. He eliminated several in the blink of an eye, his elk running through a few before they were inside the city walls and his mount had fallen, killed by a Morgul arrow. Thranduil didn’t have time to grieve, rolling from the beast as he took a sword in each hand, cutting through orcs left and right. He’d killed a small army, blowing past more soldiers of his fighting the others.

As he did so, Sara, Legolas, Tanna, and James had all made the decision to take separate directions, save for Tanna and Legolas themselves, the two opting to stick with one another as the elf prince began to become attached to the girl in only a few days. Just as they split from the siblings, leaving Sara to herself, she hid in a small corner, entirely obscured from passersby and looked over the gems, the necklace. She hoped he’d be happy with them, unaware still of the elvenking’s conflict, nor his arrival into the city. He would probably take the gems and let her escape with her life for defying his orders. A knot rose in her throat, hazel eyes stinging and she tightly closed them. She went rigid, however, hearing rapid footfalls. Fili, Kili, and Thorin, but that wasn’t all of them. She heard roaring of an orc, barely peeking around the corner to find it was Azog the Defiler himself, wielding an oversized, crude orc weapon, the king and two princes wielding dwarvish blades. Tucking the gems and necklace away, she hid to not draw attention to herself, readying her bow. She could at least help Kili.

The fight felt as though it had lasted hours, and the first to fall was Fili, Kili’s brother and Thorin’s nephew. Sara clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her cries, tears streaming from her cheeks instantly. Her hands trembled, knowing if she fired a shot, it would hit one of the dwarves. She could do no more than watch in horror as the pale orc continued his merciless assault. Meanwhile, things below the frozen waterfall were no less horrific. James had suffered wounds of his own, taking several cuts and bruises from the brutal orcish weapons and the unrelenting dwarves before Rinnion swooped in, saving his son from defeat. Thranduil had ordered his soldiers through, to clear the mess and join him as he took what was rightfully his, reclaiming the gems for himself and unaware Sara had succeeded. Gandalf had shouted at him to call the elves off, but the elvenking refused, sword drawn as red filled his vision. The dwarves had betrayed him one too many times.

Tauriel stood in his way, an arrow aimed directly at the king, right between the eyes and told him to stand down, that he knew nothing of love, that his heart was cold and uncaring. Before the redhead had time to blink, Thranduil snarled and snapped her bow in half with one swipe of his sword. He knew she favored the dwarf, but she truly didn’t understand what love was, how painful it was… and his thoughts had drifted to both his late wife and of Sara, wondering where she had gone and opted to find her once he claimed the gems. Upon hissing at the redhead if she was willing to die for it, whatever she felt for the dwarf, a blade was pointed at him, by none other than his own son, the lady wizard directly behind him. Thranduil lowered his blade and Tauriel ran off, presumably for Kili, and the elvenking’s eyes fell on Tanna momentarily, then back to his son before he too had left. Gandalf had caught up as the king felt the air leave his lungs, the wizard telling him his wife hadn’t left just the gems behind, but his son as well, asking which was more valuable, and he only realized then he’d misguided no one but himself. “Aranel… where is she? Where is the princess?” 

As he had taken off to find her, Sara had witnessed only more death. Kili was second to fall, and a sob became strangled in her throat. Kili had saved her before, he had given her hope! He lay motionless on the ground, dealt a mortal blow, and while Azog too had been defeated in a last move by Thorin, she couldn’t move immediately. Sara had started to inch closer, the silence deafening, wanting to at least make the dwarf prince more at peace before she heard rapid footfalls. She scrambled into her hiding place again, but it was Tauriel, the redhead never once spotting her. Sara braced herself and crept closer as the captain inched her way outside, finding the dwarf she’d fallen in love with not moving, no longer breathing. A wail of pure agony echoed along the stone as Tauriel sobbed over the dwarven prince, and Sara’s entire figure shook with sobs of her own. Just as the princess found a little strength to get to her feet, more footfalls were heard. Legolas and Tanna, then she heard another set of footsteps. Thranduil. 

Legolas had seen Tauriel grieving over the dwarf, but without knowing what to say, had taken the lady wizard to depart, running into the Elvenking. Thranduil seemed uncertain and out of place, with Sara hearing it all. The king sounding so unsure shattered her heart further, and she felt his regret sharper than her own and cutting her deep. There was a gentleness in the king’s voice, telling his son how much his mother loved him, and Sara’s heart broke again, knowing deep within that the elf she loved would never love her in the way she could only dream about. “I… cannot go back,” the elven prince spoke quietly, and for the first time in centuries, the mask his father wore consistently had broken, turning and bowing his head to hide the single tear that had fallen from his eye. “Legolas…” For one brief instant, the prince paused, hearing his father speak of a young king that needed his aid, one known as Strider in the wild. Once the information had been given, the prince escorted Tanna from the ruins, both departing without a sound. 

Sara could hear Tauriel spot the king, asking him to take away the pain and suffering she felt, that she wanted no part of love if it hurt so much. “Why…” Her voice broke, holding Kili’s hand. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“Because it was real.” Thranduil admitting as much only shattered Sara’s heart further, with nothing left but fine mist as she swore he would never love her. She was on her feet, struggling to keep herself standing and began to slowly see herself out, unable to take anymore. If she couldn’t die, she didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to face the rejection that would surely come once he’d found her and sentenced some punishment for defying his orders.

“Aranel?” She froze, a sob choking her and turned, meeting the king’s ice blue eyes that were filled with remorse. “M-My King, I… I should… I should go-” 

“Aranel, hold.” Staying put, she clutched the pouch tightly in both hands, her breaths shaking as he approached. What was he going to do? 

She wouldn’t meet his eye, her vision to the ground as more tears fell down her cheeks, and Thranduil saw her holding something tight in her small hands. He’d fought the affection growing for her for over a year, and he lost. He lost terribly, and he didn’t know if she possessed the love for him that the others claimed her to have. “Will you go with your father?” The sob that left her was strangled and she shook her head, taking tentative steps back from him. “N-No, my lord, I… I made a p-promise and I… I will stand by it. E-Even if…” His features were tender, but she still hadn’t looked at him. “Even if, what?” His voice had even become softer, stepping closer to her. A sharp cry wrenched free from her chest and finally, her hazel eyes met his icy blue, filled with love and agony. “Even if I don’t know what you want f-from me…” 

“Everything.” Her expression was bewildered, but the girl couldn’t utter so much as a sound before Thranduil had closed the distance, tilting her chin up and brought their lips together. 

Her brain misfired. She was either dead or dreaming, she had to be. There was no possible way that the Great Elvenking Thranduil was kissing her. Yet, the subtle flaring of her scars told her she was very much awake, and Sara timidly wrapped her arms around his shoulders, standing on her toes. His lips… they were sinfully soft, softer than she remembered when he kissed her knuckles, moving against hers in a way that was gentle, his breath sweeter than the wine he so often drank, and far more intoxicating. Her fingers trembled as they brushed through his silvery blonde tresses, and it was as though she’d been graced by something finer than silk, no snags anywhere within as she drifted through. He held her against his frame, backing her against the far wall, their lips never parting from one another, as if they needed one another to breathe. A soft sigh had escaped the princess, realizing she still held the pouch with the gems she’d been so determined to get for him, but didn’t part from her king immediately. When his hand had rested on her hip, her breath hitched, and she shivered with thoughts of what could happen.

Thranduil hadn’t yet known the ecstasy Sara was giving him, and just from her delicate lips on his own, the elvenking was finding her far more addicting than he’d ever dreamed possible. Those nights he spent thinking of this exact moment, or the brief ideas of having her in his bed were nothing compared to this. Though her cheeks had been wet, her face flushed and lips trembling, she never once pushed him away when he advanced on her. She fit against him perfectly, as if she were meant to be there, and something so cloyingly sweet radiated from her small frame, enveloping him for eternity. He was hers, wholly and irrevocably hers, never knowing before that moment just how much he needed her, how much he wanted her. Each movement of their lips gave him some new sweetness he sought to claim more, an exotic fruit whose taste differed with each bite. She was the air he needed, the respite he’d been desperately seeking for centuries. Holding the side of her face, his hand had moved to the back of her neck, nipping her lower lip and inciting a gasp. His tongue had brushed her lower lip as if timidly seeking her own, and she whimpered, but her own had met his with just as much tentativeness, as if both were afraid of the other pulling away.

They swept along together, as if in some new dance both were familiarizing themselves with, or reminding themselves of, and it was only moments before they both were quietly gasping. To Sara, that tongue was the equivalent of the purest sin, and her thighs shook with every gentle swipe against her own, holding onto him as if she couldn’t get close enough. It was real, it was really happening! Thranduil didn’t pull away so fast, but softened the kiss enough to where it was a natural parting, resting his forehead against hers. “ _Nin ithildin, nin gilgalad, o si treuir,_ you are the guiding light amidst my darkness, and you forever will be. I never thought I’d know anything other than grief, but you… you’re the one who brings light I haven’t yet experienced, and my love will always be yours.” A sob broke free, uncontrolled and overwhelmed with love for the elvenking, her lips swollen as she pressed them to his jaw. “I…” Her voice was heavily laced with tears, thick and she cleared her throat, just as they merely leaned back, the king holding her face with gentle affection. “I never thought… I’d dreamed of you, and I’ve always been yours, but… I couldn’t…” 

“Shhh,” Thranduil’s arms wrapped around her, holding her against him and kissed her temple. “I know, _ithildin_ , I know.”

Sara’s breath caught, color rising against her features to the shade of beets, and swallowed thickly. “H-How…?” The elvenking chuckled, bringing his lips to her forehead. “We can discuss that at another time, _meleth-nin_ . Come, there’s still more we must face.” She nodded and sniffed, settling back on her feet and wavered when he caught her. He’d taken her breath away, his smirk a knowing one and stroked her cheek. “I’ve been wanting to do that all year,” he murmured, darkening her features. “Are you well enough to keep going?” She turned her eyes to his, finding only love and compassion, and all of it for her. She could have cried again, but she nodded, offering him a sweet smile. “Yes, my King.” Thranduil’s features softened again, kissing her hair. “For you, _nin ithildin_ , I am only Thranduil.” A sound stuck in her throat and she hid against his chest, giddy excitement threatening to fill her to the brim. “That.. that’s going to take some getting used to…”

“And we have all eternity together.” Her breathing hitched again, hazel eyes wide with awe and affection reserved only for him. “There’s nothing else I’d rather have.”

Footsteps were heard coming through, but not from where Tauriel had been. Still locked in a lover’s embrace, Thranduil made no move to pull away from her, he and Sara both watching the approach of… her brother. His eyebrows rose significantly, his grin a knowing one. “Just passing through, looking for Tauriel.” Sara nodded to the frozen waterfall outside. “She needs a gentle soul right now, brother. She’s grieving.” Concern filled his features and nodded, offering a small bow to the king, who returned it with an incline of his head. Thranduil kept his hand at the small of her back as he led her from the ruins, noticing once again the small pouch she clutched so desperately. “ _Meleth-nin_ , if I were to ask about that little satchel, would you indulge me?” Sara had forgotten about it momentarily, blinking a few times in realization. “O-Oh! I… Well, it… Maybe it would be better just to let you take it… I can’t even think straight…” Her face colored again, earning a soft laugh from the king, but she deposited the pouch in his waiting hand. 

“I-I know I disobeyed, my King, and… and I’m really sorry, and… I-I hope this helps in forgiving me…” There was a gentle confusion on his face, a small smile spreading. “Aranel, _nin ithildin_ , there is nothing you need to be… forgiven for...” The pouch had been opened, and glimmering brilliantly under the sun were the gems he’d so desperately sought, what he’d been seeking for decades, centuries even. The chain was finely crafted, the necklace a grand display of wealth, power, and undying love for the one intended, but… Sara knew it would hurt, remembering how he loved his late wife, and though he swore she brought him light in the darkness, she could only patiently accept what would come. She expected to feel grief, unimaginable sadness, as her empathy was tied to strong emotions from him, but she felt something else altogether. Wonder, which was so plain in his striking steel eyes, and something else… _love._ It hurt at first, thinking he was feeling such a strong wave of affection for his late wife, and Thranduil’s breath had caught, the princess seeing a single tear running down his cheek. Worried, she stepped closer, albeit timidly, her fingers trembling as she wiped the tear away. “Th-Thranduil?” 

He’d taken the necklace and lifted it, watching every facet glitter as if it held its own life, and briefly, she saw his shoulders shake, as if he were restraining himself from crying. Sara’s worry had spiked, dreading that he would reject her and continue to grieve his late wife for what she had done, but the elvenking replaced the necklace and tied the pouch tight, on her in an instant. “Sara…” His lips reclaimed hers with desperation and ferocity, dropping the pouch beside them in favor of lifting her in a tight embrace. She’d begun to cry- he’d called her by her birth name, and she melted in the kiss, arms around his shoulders and holding onto him as desperately as he did her. “How did you… when did you…” There was wonder still illuminating his gaze, the love she felt still shining through and growing when his eyes fell on her, and he set her down gently as their kiss parted. “I… when… when the dwarves got me away from Thorin, I… I ran to the throne and took it… I-I wanted to make you happy somehow, even if… even if you wouldn’t want me the way I want you.” 

He grinned, holding her face and brought their lips together again. “They were right… _Meleth-nin_ , my guiding star, you outshine those trinkets like no other, and for you to bring me what I sought for so long… you do not see the volumes it speaks. Even though they were meant for her, you still chose to get them…” 

“Because I love you-” Her voice broke, her arms around him and she hid her face, trying to stave off the tears that continued to fall. “And I, you,” he murmured, drawing a sob from her. He loved her! He actually admitted he loved her! Sara was in shambles, all the relief washing over her making her knees weaken and she held him tighter. Thranduil let her cry, holding the back of her head for as long as she needed, gently brushing along her silk obsidian waves as he murmured to her in Elvish, promising to always love her, that she was no replacement, but a different light, a new light, one that was comforting and encompassing, that he no longer sought her power, and that he would happily spend eternity with her at his side. When she finally calmed enough, Sara knelt down and picked up the pouch, her hands trembling to give it to him. 

“No, _meleth_ , she would have wanted you to have them.” Her mouth fell open, closing quickly. “But… I wouldn’t… I don’t want to bring up anything painful, I…” He smiled, softly, and tilted her face up to kiss her forehead. “And you wouldn’t be. They shall be kept in a safe place, and in the meantime, I will find something befitting your radiance and light.” His hand remained entwined with hers as he brought her from the frozen waterfall, his last words leaving her unable to speak. “You don’t… you don’t have to-” He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, stroking the skin affectionately. “I want to, and as my guiding light, you will have only the best.” The elvenking could see every ounce of shyness within her, regardless of the kisses they’d just shared, but he knew she would become more comfortable the longer they spent together. First, they had a battle to finish, and upon reaching the field, he heard her inhale sharply. “So many…” She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to, he knew she’d never seen so many dead in her life. Sara tucked the gems in her armor, reaching for a weapon, and he saw her shyness change to protectiveness- over him. 

Though small, she had a ferocity that went unmatched, and he stood in front of her, as if blocking her from the sight. “Not now, _meleth_ , there are too many.” She swallowed, looking over the field again, and saw what he’d meant. They were losing. Giant worms with teeth and orcs were obliterating them all, forcing elves and dwarves alike to join forces, along with humans, but the battle wasn’t in their favor. “Dad…” Fearing the worst, a knot rose in her throat, but knew that the elvenking would never let her rush down there and pointed. “He’s alive, still fighting. Your father will forever be one of the strongest warriors I know.” Still panicked for her father’s life, she hid against Thranduil, her breath shaking as she fought tears. “Will he be okay?” Her voice cracked, swallowing thickly as she met pale blue with her hazel. “If anyone can survive this, it will be your father, _meleth_. You have my word.” 

He then took her where they would be safe, ready to rejoin the battle himself before she stopped him. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Please don’t leave me… I can’t stand not knowing if you’ll return or not… not when… not when we just-” His lips were on hers once more, as if to convey promises with gestures instead of words, promising he would come back. Sara knew it was selfish to keep him, a king, back from the fighting, but she also remembered what was coming and chewed her lip when the kiss parted. “Then take me with you. I can help, but I can’t stay back here and do nothing, worrying whether anyone will come back.” The elvenking was conflicted, reluctant to bring her as his fear of losing her began to surface. “Sara… Aranel… I can’t lose you.” She took his face in her hands, her thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “You won’t,” she promised, kissing his jaw. “We’ll fight together.” As she promised to stay by his side in the fight, a loud screech was heard above, followed by another, then another. The eagles had arrived. She knew then that they’d be all right, and Thranduil kissed her wrist. “Against my better judgment, I will allow it, _meleth-nin_.”

Sara nodded quickly, staying by his side as they ran to the field, finding the eagles were overtaking the field, turning the tide in their favor. Worms were ripped from the ground and destroyed by oversized talons, giving the elves, dwarves, and humans the upper hand against the orcs. Thranduil was more intuitive to her than she expected, leading her straight to her father, the three fighting various orcs that began to show a new type of fury before they were cut down. Using her spear, she put a little distance between herself, her father, and the king who’d stolen her heart so she could move about better without risking hurting them. With the eagles aiding them, it was apparent that even the orcs knew they were losing, yet their fight only grew more desperate and heated. It made them careless, leaving themselves open. “You doin’ all right there, sissy?” She heard her father call as she split her spear, swinging the two pieces and ran two orcs through simultaneously. “Yeah!” Sara panted, jerking her weapons free, ready for the next one. “I’m all right, dad!” 

“Make way!” She heard shouting before Thranduil encased his arm around her stomach, tearing her back from being run over by a massive goat. Iron Hills dwarves. “Fuckin-” 

But her hazel eyes were appreciative, loving as she met her king’s. “Thank you, my lord.” In his moment of saving her, however, an orc was running at him at full speed, and Sara shoved the elvenking out of the way, running her spear through its neck and sending it down with strangled noises escaping its throat. Without thinking of it, she met the king’s ice blue once more, pulling him down for a heated, chaste kiss. “Forgive me, I couldn’t let you get hurt because of me.” She wasn’t thinking that her father could see, that he would start asking questions once he found a moment. Thranduil, however, pressed his lips to her forehead, uncaring of who saw. “There is nothing to forgive, _ithildin_ , not for this.” The battle raged on for hours, neither her father nor her elvenking suffering a single wound with their skill, but as Sara was still learning, an orcish blade had cut her thigh, hacked away at pieces of her armor before she gave a war cry of her own, unsheathing the blade from the woodland king and ran it under the orc’s chin, jamming it in its brain. 

With the adrenaline going, she barely felt a thing, though her blood was seen trickling from her armor. It was only when the orcs retreated, running for their lives with their numbers eradicated that she fell, landing on her backside with a grunt. The sound wasn’t heard, however, as thousands around them cheered in victory. Elves, dwarves, humans, even the eagles were giving victory cries, and the pain began setting in her leg. “Aranel, _meleth-nin_ …” Turning her hazel to his pale blue, she tried to smile and winced, clutching her thigh. “My King, I... I'm okay…” Thranduil scooped her in his arms, cradling her to his chest. “I’m here, _ithildin_ , I have you. Let me see that you’re mended properly. Rinnion,” he called over his shoulder, seeing the western king examine orc bodies to be sure they were dead. “I’m taking her to the medical tent. She’s been struck by an orcish blade.” There was an urgency in his tone, and Sara felt his panic more keenly than her own as she lay her head on his shoulder. “Make sure it isn’t a Morgul blade,” her father called back, his own eyes inquisitive as he watched how his daughter clung to the woodland king. 

“I’m okay,” she promised, her voice weak before she groaned, hiding her face against his hair and neck. Still, even with the battle lasting for days, not a strand of his gorgeous silvery hair was out of place. Thranduil had taken her to his tent instead, laying her on the bench as something passed through his gaze. “What… We’re in your tent, my K- Thranduil?” Just as he opened his mouth to reply, a healer entered, with herbs and bandages and more, but the elvenking stood abruptly, standing before the male elf that had entered with a fire in his eyes. Jealousy. Sara felt it, tilting her head in confusion. “I will address her wounds,” he told the elven healer in a clipped tone. “Give me the herbs and bandages, then go.” Once the other elf had done so, the princess could see him scrambling to bolt in another direction, and she watched him approach, her eyes tender. “Are you all right?” Her voice had grown softer, a small hand reaching for him and he knelt in front of her as her hand cupped his cheek, turning in to her touch. “Forgive me, _ithildin_ , I am a jealous elf. Even if the circumstances for the removal of your armor are purely medicinal, I cannot let another male drink you in before I’ve had the pleasure, or ever.” 

His gaze was apologetic, uncertain, as if everything was entirely new to them both. Sara hummed and left a tender kiss on his temple. “There’s nothing to forgive, _guren_ . I understand.” Relief visibly settled on the king’s shoulders, and the faintest dusting of pink fell over his nose, and Sara almost cooed. Had she made him blush? He _was_ her heart, he had no idea how long she’d loved him before this day had happened. The color deepened slightly as he removed his gauntlets and set them aside, looking over her figure before his striking silver gaze fell on her hips, then her thighs, and he swallowed. The color in her features had done the same, and she mentally chastised herself. She didn’t think Thranduil would try anything where anyone could walk in… would he? Sara lay back, inching the leggings of her armor from her legs, her slacks still on underneath, but stained crimson from the blade. She chewed her lip, untying the laces and inched those down as well, kicking off her sabatons and the clothing to the ground. 

Thranduil was fighting another losing battle as he watched her remove the armor and padded clothing beneath in such a slowness, he would have assumed it was a tease had it not been for her wound. Everything except for her smallclothes from the waist down was gone, baring her legs entirely for him to see, and the way she rubbed them together sparked his need to have her, to bring her pleasure she’d never known, but… “By the Valar… Aranel…” Even the flush against her features was maddening, but somehow, the elvenking restrained himself, though he couldn’t help but run his fingertips along her calves, feeling the muscle gently flex beneath her satin skin. From that alone, he heard her breath hitch, meeting her gaze to find those enchanting hazel eyes were hooded, and for only him. “The stars and moon weep with envy upon the sight of your beauty before me. I am truly at a loss, _meleth-nin,_ for I have not yet known the perfection you carry.” 

“Ohhh…” Her voice had grown tiny, hiding her face, and a sound caught in her throat when she felt his lips on her skin. Thranduil was kissing her legs, starting at her ankles and moving further up, taking his time in running his hands over her, as if memorizing something of art. 

“M-My King… Thranduil…” She barely whispered his name, her breathing shallow and hitched, and when his sterling gaze lifted to meet her hazel, the desire in her was unmistakable, but there was also uncertainty, a twinge of fear, but it wasn’t of him that he could tell. “When I make love to you, _ithildin_ , it will not be where anyone can witness it. You have my word.” He massaged her calf to reassure her, but she sat up, careful to leave her wounded thigh where he could help her. “It… it’s not that so much as it…” She bit her lip, and he saw her worry grow. “Talk to me, _meleth_ , you have nothing to fear.” Sara took his hand in both of hers, almost cradling it to her face. “Before… when… when I was human, I… I wasn’t a-a maiden until S-Sauron returned that to me. Um… I-I wasn’t the promiscuous type or anything, but… I don’t think you’ll want me now, knowing that, and… I-I don’t like my body.” Love and understanding filled his eyes, bringing her lips to his with a tenderness that made her lungs ache. “What you’ve done before makes no difference to me, _meleth-nin_. I know your heart, and I know you never would have given yourself to someone who wouldn’t treasure you, but those in your life have cruelly betrayed something of such magnificence that it burns me, and I would seek to make it right if you’ll give me the honor of doing so. As for not appreciating or having any fondness for yourself, then…” A small smile spread, one of wicked promise. “When we return home, allow me to show you how much your delights have maddened me.” 

His remark drew a whimper, her chest heaving and she nodded, running her fingers through his hair. “I love you,” she whispered. “You’re everything to me.” Their lips met again with more tenderness. “ _Le melin_ _, nin ithildin_ , now and forever, I will always love you.” Sara inhaled sharply, but it turned to a hiss from the pain in her thigh, and she leaned back to allow him to heal her. “It was no more than a crudely made weapon,” it was as though he was murmuring to himself. “Not a Morgul blade at all.” Thranduil set to work on chewing the herbs briefly and after wiping the excess blood from her thigh, placed the mixture over the wound. He held her thigh with both hands, murmuring something in ancient Elvish to activate the healing capabilities more, and as he healed her, she’d hidden her face, the feeling of his hands on her thigh making her stomach tighten. The elvenking couldn’t help but relish in the silkiness of her shapely legs, her thighs thicker than other elven women, powerful, with a suppleness that he wanted to sink his teeth into. The way they’d rub together when she walked… 

It was as though time had suspended for them, neither the princess nor the king listening to their surroundings as the battle had ended. The herbs were on her thigh, and Thranduil took great care to wrap the bandages around her leg, lingering with each wrap around her. Tempted as he was to brush over her core, he refrained, removing his cloak and helped her sit, draping the thing over her shoulders and watched as it dwarfed her figure. The blush hadn’t left her features either, and he was almost certain that her mind lingered on the touches. He would have been right, and though it was to heal her, she felt her body quickly heat beneath his touch. It was freezing outside, but she barely felt a thing, and his cloak that encompassed her with his scent and warmth blocking the cold as much as her desire for him had. He’d delved into the crate from her father, removing the trousers within and returned to her side, helping her stand so she could slip them on. “We can have your armor repaired when we return home, _ithildin_ ,” he murmured softly, kissing her head as he kept her upright. Sara nodded, her slacks on and tied and leaned against him, closing her eyes blissfully. “That’s fine,” she breathed, her arms around him. 

When he’d helped her sit again, he removed his armor, robes still on beneath and took a place beside her, scooping her on his lap so he could stroke her hair. Voices could be heard just outside, mostly soldiers returning to their camps and speaking in relieved, gleeful tones since the battle was over. Sara had closed her eyes, resting her ear over Thranduil’s heart and sighed, the beat of it her own private melody. Sometime later, she wasn’t sure how long exactly, dusk had fallen, and Bard, along with Bilbo and Gandalf, had entered the elvenking’s tent. No one spoke, and the princess opened her eyes to find the new arrivals watching them both with knowing grins. “If you’ve got something to say, say it now. We were enjoying the calm before the return home.” They chuckled, and Bilbo almost snorted. “Looks as though you two are enjoying a lot more than just calm silence.” A squeak stuck in Sara’s throat, hiding against Thranduil’s neck as the color rose against her features, earning quiet laughter from them all. “It would appear the Great Elvenking is reciprocating to the princess’s affections.” Bard spoke then, not a tease in his voice, but rather relief, as if…

Sara turned her gaze to the king, a question in her eyes. “Yes, _meleth-nin_ , I found out from them… and your lady wizard friend when I sent patrols to look for you. Imagine my surprise when it was discovered you went inside that mountain and for what reason…” Though he was teasing, his arms tightened around her marginally, brushing her hair back. He was worried for her. “I… I’m… I just wanted to make sure you got them…” 

“But it looks as though lord Thranduil has found something infinitely more valuable to him now,” Bard replied. “Master Baggins,” Thranduil nodded toward the hobbit. “Will you be staying for the night before returning home?” Sara offered the hobbit a sad smile, knowing he was grieving his friends. “I suppose one night wouldn’t bring any harm.” Food was brought to them soon after, and their meals were mostly eaten in silence, though every passerby saw the princess on the king’s arm, her sitting beside him so they could eat, whispering to one another. “It begins…” she sighed. 

“And it will not see an end for a long time, Aranel,” Gandalf offered with a knowing smirk. “This is a momentous occasion for the elves of Mirkwood, to see their king know peace and have love return to his life.” To emphasize it, the elvenking kissed her head, meeting her gaze with an affectionate one and spurned a blush from her. “A new love,” he elaborated, stroking her cheek. “Filled with promise and new horizons for eternity.” At the rate Thranduil spoke so eloquently and poetically to her, Sara felt for sure the blush would remain in her features. The meal had ended, and after everyone had excused themselves, the two were alone together once more. “Rest, _meleth_ , you will see your father in the morning before we depart.” They were laying down, and she placed her head on his shoulder, feeling exhaustion overwhelm her and offered the elvenking a sleepy smile. “Mm… you’ll stay, won’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.” His grin was tender, loving, and feeling safer than she had in years, the princess fell asleep in the king’s embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, since I mentioned amendments to this fic, there will also be translations added. Things are busy for me @_@ but I'm making it! As for the time frame, I was using a chronological timeline another Tolkien fan had elaborated on, I hope it's right... Ah, but thank you for reading so far! This tale isn't over yet!


	32. Chapter 32

Before everyone had finished packing to return to their homes, Sara met with her father and brother, who opted to walk alongside Thranduil’s forces since their home was a journey that would last much longer than a few days… which meant her king had prepared for the battle in advance. The elvenking was given a horse since his elk had been slain in the battle, and though it was a kind gesture, her heart ached, wishing she could have met the magnificent creature. Sensing her distress, Thranduil brought her to ride with him, wanting to keep her as close as possible. “He was a good friend,” the elvenking murmured softly, his fingers tracing circles along her back. “I think you and him would have gotten along quite well.” Her own grin was tender, but she felt the ache of those around her, each suffering a loss and closed her eyes. “We’ll be home soon,  _ ithildin _ , and then you can rest.” She shook her head, brushing her fingers along his silvery golden hair. “It’s… not so much rest that I need as it’s… I feel their suffering,  _ guren _ .” He held her to bring some kind of solace during the entire journey.

The instant the elves returned to Eryn Galen, Sara felt some energy return, revitalized as she took in the forest around them. Thranduil left a kiss on her crown, holding her a little tighter. The journey had been under a fortnight, and the woods were a welcome she didn’t know she needed, yet felt more complete with the elvenking holding her. “Welcome home,  _ meleth-nin _ .” She turned her eyes to his pale blue and grinned, secretly thrilled that he didn’t pull away from her in the presence of others. “You and your son are welcome to stay,  _ mellon _ ,” he called to her father, and for a brief instant, there was a certain tension as Thranduil’s eyes met Tauriel’s, the one he’d banished, their quarrel fresh in his mind. “Present company included.” Even Sara was surprised, she thought he wouldn’t allow the redhead to set another foot within his realm ever again, but she was also mourning, and the woodland king was somehow different in the eyes of those around him. 

Yet Tauriel’s pale green were the most mystified, seeing the princess in Thranduil’s arms, the kisses he left upon her, and she had begun to think she was going mad. Did the elvenking finally know love? Or had love finally returned to him? The tension was thick between the former captain and the one who’d banished her, but the prince had stayed by her side and was helping her grieve, the redhead unaware that Sara’s brother already possessed affections for her. The horses were taken to the stables, and finally, they were inside the halls of the woodland realm, Sara staying close to her king, her… lover? It felt odd, she would have called him her boyfriend in her own world, but she was no longer in that place. Were her and Thranduil officially courting, or… she hoped it wasn’t just a fling. As her thoughts threatened to consume her, she hadn’t realized he’d taken her to the guest chambers she was sleeping in before, the one closest to his own room. Thranduil escorted her inside, and as she placed her things on the bed, he turned her and brought their lips together again. 

This touch was more aggressive, more desperate than the first, and his fingers had dug into her hips and pulled forth a soft moan, the princess clinging to him as he towered over her. Lifting her by her thighs, he set her on the bed, hovering over her and relished in every touch and sigh she gave. “ _ Thuia-nin _ ,” he was almost growling, calling her his breath, and Sara gasped, the elvenking’s touch sending her into a spiral. Her stomach tensed and she whimpered, feeling her figure grow warm with every brush against her.  _ “Meleth-nin _ , it is difficult to restrain myself with you. Forgive me.” As he started to remove himself from her, she saw his eyes avert, his features filled with remorse amidst his conflict, as if he were fighting his want of her still. Sara chewed her swollen lip, taking his hand in both of her own. “You’re not forcing anything on me,  _ guren _ , not at all. I love you, I’m solely yours, and if… if that is what you want… with me, then…” Thranduil shook his head, cupping her cheek. “Not so fast,  _ meleth _ , as much as it would give me great pleasure to. Your comfort and pleasure are more important to me than my own selfish desires.” 

Sara turned in to his touch, her large hazel eyes searching his icy blue. “I… Even so, I…” She was willing to give herself to him already, and he could see the love, as well as the trust she had in him. “You tempt fate and myself far more than you know,  _ ithildin _ .” Thranduil tilted her head to the side, brushing the hair from her neck and planted his lips against her throat. He felt her pulse spike, her breath catch, and her fingers had twisted in his robes, earning a small, low chuckle from the elvenking. “So sensitive to me so soon, whatever shall I do with you?” The flush of desire had darkened against her features and she shivered, feeling his breath along her skin. “A-Anything you want, my King.” He cast her a small look as he pulled back slightly, a knowing glimmer in his gaze. “S-Sorry, m-my- Thranduil! Oh, this is… I never thought-” With a rumbling chuckle, he brought his lips to hers again. “Do not think that I will forsake you because you’re still getting used to this,  _ meleth-nin _ . There may be a time or two you will need to use my title, after all.”

The way his eyes darkened told her it would be a private affair, and she barely managed to stifle her whimper again, squeezing her thighs together when he straightened. Even the Great Elvenking’s features seemed flushed, heated, as if he wanted to tear the garments from her that instant. He wouldn’t, not then, he wanted to make it something she would never forget. There was also the matter of moving her into his chambers, a gift that would compliment her beauty… a wedding… Thranduil wanted to spend eternity with her, but was she the type to oppose such a union? What about children? His mind raced as he took her in his arms, pressing another kiss against her hair as he stroked her cheek. He also missed his son terribly, and the guilt and ache he felt were strong enough for her to pick up on. “Thranduil?” Sara knew the ache was a different one than the one he felt for his wife, and her confusion had only been surpassed by her concern. “What’s troubling you? I felt it, and… I see it in your eyes, _ guren _ . Talk to me?”

Thranduil sighed, heavily, putting his face to her hair to inhale the fruit and floral scents that were a source of comfort for him. She was all he had left, he wouldn’t let her go, he couldn’t. “Ah, now that,  _ ithildin _ , is a tale that will take some time to tell.” 

“We have time,” she offered softly, adjusting so she was facing him better and held his face tenderly. “But if you’re not ready, then that’s okay too. I just want to make it better.” How could one small creature be so kind and compassionate after the way he’d treated her? He’d been hostile and cold, he’d hurt her before, and more than once. Yet there she was, gentler than he ever deserved from her. He didn’t speak as a knot rose in his throat, but held her tighter and his face was against her neck, his breath shuddering. “ _ Meleth-nin _ , there’s so much… Centuries worth…” 

“Shh,” Sara wrapped her arms around his shoulders and she began massaging the base of his skull, her other hand stroking his hair after removing his crown. “It’s going to be okay. Somehow, I know it will be. And if… if you still want me to, then I’ll be by your side through it all.” 

His hold tightened and his shoulders tensed, the Elvenking swallowing thickly. “You are more than I deserve,” he whispered against her skin. “After everything I’ve done- to you, to my son, to my people,  _ our  _ people-” Sara cut him off, pressing her lips to his shoulder. Through the robes, it still silenced him and he shuddered. “It’s in the past,  _ guren _ , and everyone makes mistakes. That happens. For me, there’s nothing to forgive. You were only doing what you believed was right, that it would aid your kingdom, no one can fault you for that. With Legolas… my friend is with him, I assume?” He barely inclined his head, but she assumed as much. “Then she and I can still send messages and bring him home so the two of you can at least mend things. And for the kingdom… you’ve kept them safe.” 

“But at what cost,  _ meleth _ ? I’ve isolated them from the world.” Her embrace tightened a little, comforting, and left a kiss at the tip of his ear. “Because you’ve known loss and betrayal,” she murmured. “If no one understands that, then they have no heart. You can always move forward.” 

Thranduil lifted his gaze to hers, and Sara saw a single tear leaving his eye before his lips reclaimed hers with a ferocity that seemed pleading. “Promise me you’ll remain here, Aranel… Sara, that is all I ask, your word.” Hearing him sound so frail broke the princess’s heart and she nodded, her eyes stinging. “I won’t go anywhere, I promise I’ll stay as long as you want me.” That much he already knew the answer to. For all eternity, he could never let her go. “Forever,  _ meleth-nin _ ,” he murmured against her lips. “Forever is the time I will want you by my side.” They stayed in the embrace for hours, neither speaking, merely enjoying the solace and love from the other, sharing tender kisses without ever unpacking that evening. Neither could sleep, but their eyes closed as they held one another, listening to their breathing and their hearts beat for the other. “I love you,” she whispered, barely opening her eyes. The sight took the Elvenking's breath away, her hazel orbs containing the eternal beauty of the forest, of a new world, and he would give anything to explore the mysteries and delights that she had to offer. “I love you,  _ ithildin _ .”

* * *

Word spread like wildfire about the Elvenking and the princess being close to one another, more than just friendly nature, some even boasting about seeing one or the other visit the other’s chambers and spend the night. It made people murmur that perhaps things were changing for the realm. In only two days, all of Thranduil’s halls knew about Sara and him visiting one another. Some even spoke that the princess was no longer a maiden, that battles often made anyone needy for the warmth of someone in their bed, but the king silenced them all with a mere glance, daring them to speak against his little starlight. Their time together was spent with heated kisses and soft murmurs, and though they drove each other to the brink of madness with their touches, the king was patient, opting to wait until things were on more even ground. After the third day, her father made a bold approach. “Sissy, you been hearin’ about the shit flyin’ around?” Sara groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Who hasn’t? They’re not stealthy when it comes to their mouths, and we haven’t even done anything besides kiss! Kiss, and literally,  _ sleep _ . That’s it.” Rinnion quirked his eyebrow and snorted. “Just sleeping?” 

“Yes, dad, just sleeping, that’s all. He hasn’t even pushed for anything- he’s actually the one who wants to wait.” 

Impressed, her father rubbed her shoulder in a fatherly manner, then pat her back. “As long as you two are good to each other. He’s suffered like nothing I’ve ever seen before, sissy.” She nodded her agreement, the two walking in the courtyard together. Briefly, they passed Tauriel with James, the two sharing soft smiles as her brother treated her like a queen. “What’s going on there?” Rinnion laughed outright, nodding to his son and the redhead. “You know damn well what’s going on there. He asked her to come with us when we go home. She said yes.” That brought a smile to Sara’s features, thoroughly happy for her brother and her friend, hoping the two would hit it off. “Good, that’s great. When were you guys heading out?” 

“Tomorrow,” he replied with a stretch. “Thranduil’s given us the supplies we need, for us and our soldiers, so we’ll be rolling out of here tomorrow morning.” Her face displayed her resignation, and she sighed heavily. “I think there are talks of a celebration coming up- you’re not staying for it?”

He shook his head, giving her a small hug. “We wanna go home, that’s all, sissy. But we’re still alive, so that counts for something.” With a small smirk, the princess returned her father’s embrace. “I know, dad, and I-” Thranduil had stepped outside, and the sight of the Elvenking once again stole the air from her lungs. It was mid-winter, and he wore robes of ice white and blue, the snowberries in his crown adorning his head giving him the appearance of the true king of all seasons. His cloak reflected the same, the inner lining a black silk that had intricate branches stitched within. He grinned upon seeing her and her father, joining them in moments. “Aranel, would it be too much to have a moment with your father? There are things I wish to discuss before his departure.” Confused, and though she wanted to ask, she didn’t want to interfere and curtsied, knowing others were watching. “Yes, my King. I’ll just be in the library.” The woodland king watched her retreating form with a subtle grin, then turned his focus to her father. “There is a matter I wish for you to look into for me, something for her.”

He knew with her hearing now as good as theirs that he couldn’t speak until she was well out of eyesight for them, though he didn’t want her to go. “Really now? And what would that be?” Rinnion was protective of his daughter, even with his closest friend, especially so, but Thranduil was an elf of his word. “She will come to no harm with me, Rinnion. You know after…” The western king nodded, his expression understanding. “I know. I told her as much, and she swore she’d never try to make you look at her in a way you didn’t want to. So I guess that leaves me with my original question. What are you looking to get for her?” Thranduil wanted a necklace and a ring, something that he felt equal or at least complementary to her ethereal beauty, something to convey how much he had grown to love her. “You could literally gather her the wildflowers in your kingdom and she’d be over the moon,  _ mellon _ . But I’ll look around and send a letter once I’ve come across something.” The woodland king wanted her to have the world, as she had become his, and squeezed his friend’s shoulder in appreciation. “Thank you, that is all I can ask. She’s promised to stay, she wants to protect the kingdom since something in her faerie blood cloaks the forest from black magic.” Rinnion laughed outright, but it wasn’t cruel or condescending. It was a knowing laugh. “She also wants to stay to be closer to you.” 

Those words echoed in the Elvenking's mind the rest of the day, more so when he had the evening to share with Sara, seeing her curl up against him the more tired she became. He couldn’t help the soft laugh as he stroked her arm, lulling her into sleep. “Rest now,  _ ithildin _ , the morning will greet us soon.” She groaned slightly, her sigh a tired one. “Will you stay with me?” Those sleepy hazel eyes were far too addicting for one elf to bear, and the Elvenking reclaimed her lips with his own. “If that is what you wish,  _ meleth-nin _ , then I will stay.” She was already laying beside him in her bed, her head on his chest with a soft sigh. “Yes please. The nightmares don’t happen when you’re near.” In a matter of moments, she was asleep, her breathing deep and rhythmic as she held onto him, her tiny hands twisting in his robes as if he were the only thing keeping the darkness of the lingering symbols at bay. Pressing his lips to her hair, Thranduil inhaled her scent, closing his eyes to join her in dreams.

  
  



	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara's family is set to depart for the Western Lands, leaving her with Thranduil. With the battle done, their minds are left to wander.

Waking in the arms of a king was not the way Sara had pictured her life turning out. Yet, as she blearily cracked open her eyes, seeing his still slumbering features threatened to deprive her of the air in her lungs. There was peace, even the hint of a smile growing along his features. “I know you’re watching,” his tone was heavily laced with sleep, deeper than normal, and pulled a giggle from her, kissing his cheek. Thranduil’s own smile reflected hers, icy blue opening to find the blush had risen against her features. “Though I must admit, I believed you would hide for a moment.” He was teasing her, but found her shyness endearing as much as he did the rest of her. “I-” But more laughter broke free and their lips met, calming her giggles. “I might have thought about it… but it’s hard not to watch, _ guren _ , not when you seem so at ease.” His arms encased her, holding her with him, and his fingers drifted through her hair, which had been mussed from sleep. “So a rare sight then, I suppose I have you to thank for that.” He tilted her chin up, reclaiming her lips. At first, the kiss had been gentle, but as the Elvenking woke up a little more, it grew fierce, turning to have her beneath him.

Sara clutched his arm, the other hand on the back of his neck and whimpered when he nipped her lip, his tongue soothing it before conquering her own. Thranduil’s touch had coursed along the side of her, stroking her hip and lingered at her thigh, digging his fingers in. Her sleeping gown was a flimsy thing, easy enough to tear away from the curves that incessantly maddened him, and though he knew she would give herself if he pursued it, the hold loosened as his kiss became gentler. “We should see your father off,  _ meleth-nin _ , for if I take you now, you will not leave these chambers for days.” She swallowed thickly. Days?! He chuckled against her lips, darkly, then brushed his nose against hers. “And that isn’t even for you to recover.”  _ Oh fuck _ … Sara shivered, her breath matching and searched his gaze. He was entirely serious. “I… I, uhm… o-okay. Y-Yeah…” She’d lost the capacity to speak, yet a cold washed over her as he was back on his side once again, watching her with amusement. “ _ Ithildin,  _ there is nothing to rush into. We have eternity together.” 

“Oh, I… I know. I just… hope I’m not disappointing when it does happen, that’s all.” He’d held her face, compassion shimmering in his bright eyes. “You never could be, and I know you won’t be when the time comes. Would you like to know how I know?” Thranduil quirked his eyebrow as his smirk grew. “H-How?” A low growl rumbled in his chest, resting his hand on her thigh before draping her leg over his waist. “Everything you’ve done has captivated me, the sounds I draw from you, the way you fit against me so perfectly, and each delicate flush along those exquisite features that would surely drive anyone mad, and they’re  _ mine _ .” Her breath shuddered, in short, shallow bursts as her hands rested on his chest and felt the muscle ripple beneath his robes. The color returned to her features with a vengeance, a sound of desire sticking in her ribs. She could feel everything despite the clothing as their barriers. “Thranduil…” 

One more kiss, just one more… Sara felt his desire, it matched her own, even grew above that and he reclaimed her lips, but not as fierce as she expected. This kiss was soothing, calming, and his hand trailed from the small of her back, keeping her against him.  _ “Nin gwilwileth, nin ithildin _ , you’ve made it so I can no longer breathe without you in my presence. I only wish to have you and give you what you’ve given me with each soft caress,  _ meleth-nin _ , and that is the eagerness to wake each morning with you in my embrace.” Her heart was about to burst. No one had ever spoken so poetically to her, nor with so much eloquence, and Sara’s kiss grew more heated as her eyes stung with tears of happiness. “I love you,” she breathed, a tear slipping free. “Thranduil, I love you so much. That’s all I want, is just you. Just having you and your love has made each moment even sweeter than the last. I’m yours, for as long as you’ll have me.” As he wiped the tear from her face, his smile became gentle, yet she could feel excitement from the elvenking, nervousness, and a twinge of panic. “Marry me.”

Sara couldn’t breathe, hazel eyes widening as her lips parted, heart jackhammering like mad. He had to have heard it, she was deafened by it. In her stunned awe, she felt a sense of rejection from him and held him tighter. “Did… did you just… y-you want me to…” Thranduil swallowed heavily, he was even trembling. “It’s not what you want.” Instantly, she drew him close, leaving no space between them and littered his features with kisses. “It is! I just… I never thought… you… me… a wedding? Yes,  _ guren _ , for all eternity, yes.” The relief that settled over him was so potent, replaced with a giddy happiness and their lips seemed to remain connected as his hands roamed every part of her, as if desperate to commit each dip and curve to memory. “I love you,” he breathed between kisses. “Aranel… Sara… I will spend our eternity showing just how you complete me.” Her tears fell, shoulders shaking and a choked laugh escaped, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “I love you too, and you will only see the same from me, I promise.”

Her willingness to marry him brought a new sense of energy to the elvenking, and Thranduil wished for nothing more than to stay in her chambers, or his own, laying together for as long as they wished. Oh, there would be an announcement to be made, he couldn’t risk the opportunity for anyone else to attempt courting his-  _ his _ \- princess. His little starlight, the mysterious girl who continued to guide him through darkness. They had only confessed less than a moon past, but he couldn’t let anyone else take her from him. “We will need to make an announcement in the future,” they had begun to get up, and still, the princess was wiping her eyes. She didn’t know much, or anything, about elven wedding customs. “First thing to happen is I need word back from your father, then- Aranel?  _ Meleth,  _ what’s troubling you?” Swallowing heavily, hazel searched striking ice. “I… I don’t know the customs… I haven’t read those books to teach me, because I didn’t think… and you… you’ve had a wife…”

Thranduil scooped her in his arms, bringing her to his chest. “Shh,  _ meleth _ , it’s not of importance, I will help you. As for… my past…” Still, the elvenking couldn’t speak of her, but for Sara, he was trying. “Yes, I was married once, but I lost her long ago. An exception has been made once before, it can be made again. What matters is your consent in this. So long as you want this as much as I, then it shall happen.” Her breath caught as fresh tears stung her eyes, and the princess hid against his neck, holding him tight. “You… you would do that… f-for me? Even after…” He kissed her shoulder and traced her back in slow arcs. “ _ Ithildin _ , for you, I would do anything.” 

“I love you,” Sara raised her head, leaving a kiss on his jaw. “I love you so much and I don’t even know where to begin to show you.” They stayed there a little longer before both had recovered enough to briefly depart, allowing her to change.  _ Okay… he wants me to marry him… I need to make an impression…  _ She chose a gown of midnight blue, donning her cloak to cover her scars and inwardly swore. She still hadn’t mastered the glamour to conceal them. Shaking her head, she fixed her hair, which was still growing even longer, then placed her crown on. 

Once she’d finished, she began the descent to a clearing, finding James with Tauriel and her father, the three sitting equal distance from one another. Tauriel saw her first, waving her over. Though the redhead was grinning, her grief was palpable, as was her uncertainty. Sara skipped to her friend, hugging her tight as her father spoke. “Ah, so she  _ does  _ wake up after all.” She snorted, then took a seat with them despite her gown and made sure to hide her scars. Her father still didn’t know. “I was sleeping good, shush!” James snorted then, nudging his sister. “Just sleeping?” 

“Yes, just sleeping, dork! You sound like dad!” She shoved him, but it felt relieving to be near them all, even though it was partially tense. “Tauriel, my father told me you’re going to his kingdom with my brother?” Hopefully, it would serve as a happier topic, even if the elf would grieve for ages. “I am, though I’m surprised I would be welcome after being banished from my old home.” The princess grinned softly. “You don’t know my family that well, then. It could be a new journey, in a way. And from the maps, I know my dad reigns over a bit of forest as well.” 

A little brightness settled over the redhead’s features, her smile more sincere. “Then that is what I shall do, a new journey, and a way to recover.” James then inched a little closer to her, subtly, and pat her shoulder. “Take all the time you need,” Rinnion got to his feet, and Sara turned to see Thranduil approaching. Tauriel tensed, but the princess merely smiled. “He allowed you to be here, you’re okay, I promise.” She nodded, but the uncertainty in her jade green orbs struck a chord in the smaller elf. Each of them were on their feet then, and each of them bowed while Sara curtsied. “Rinnion, do you have enough supplies for the journey home?” 

“We’ve got more than enough, and we appreciate it to the last crumb,  _ mellon _ . Any more and we’ll be overloaded,” her father laughed, bringing smiles to the others, though Thranduil briefly glanced at Tauriel, understanding in his eyes, yet was still an intimidating presence. “Consider it as thanks for your support in the battle, but there is something I seek from you, if I could have a word?” 

While the others took that as their cue to depart, Thranduil held up a hand to still them. “It won’t be a private matter for long, you may remain. Rinnion, before you depart, I’ve come to ask permission for your daughter’s hand.” Sara’s heart thundered against her ribs, deafening as it had been that morning, seeing how the statement had utterly baffled the redhead beside her, mouth falling open unceremoniously before snapping it shut. Her brother, however, didn’t appear surprised in the slightest. “You ask me this before we leave? Ah… now I know why. You’ve my permission, so long as she’s consenting.” Tears had rimmed his daughter’s eyes, who was nodding furiously. “Dad, just say yes before she explodes.” Her brother’s remark earned choked laughter, but the princess was wiping her eyes, timidly stepping toward the woodland king. “I would love to,” she managed to regain some composure, and Thranduil’s smile grew as he watched her, wiping the tears she’d missed along her cheeks. “Then there you have it. It’ll take me some time to find what you asked for, then we can get things sorted and started.” 

Sara’s eyebrows knit together, wondering what the woodland king asked her father to find, but knew neither of them would tell her. Even her brother looked curious, but Rinnion merely cast his son a glance that prevented him from speaking. So, not only would her father not tell her, but he was also aware that telling his son would give the information to his daughter. “Thank you,  _ mellon _ , your friendship is something I shall continue to value.” Before her family left with their soldiers and Tauriel, they stayed for lunch, and Tauriel was heatedly speaking to Sara about the changes in the elvenking. “He looks at you differently, more openly than before. Well, more than I’ve seen him look at anyone else. Have you two…?” The princess shook her head, her face coloring. “No… not that. Not yet… I don’t even know what to expect, honestly.” The redhead smirked, the girls bringing their heads together. “I myself am still a maiden, but I’ve a feeling you’ll be confined to the chambers for some time.” Sara choked on her wine.

“ _ Tauriel! _ ” She hissed, carefully recovering and not spilling her drink. Hazel briefly met the king’s steel and her features darkened further, sparking Thranduil’s curiosity. “Oh, before you go, I might need your help. If you see Legolas with a lady wizard, I need you to deliver a message if you can. To ask if they can come to the Greenwood.” Tauriel nodded solemnly, still not meeting the king’s gaze. Even Thranduil wasn’t thrilled about the redhead being present, but allowed her one final visit because his friend’s son was smitten with her. Their meal had ended, and finally, the western king with his company departed, leaving Sara with Thranduil, who’d begun to wander his halls. “Aranel, if you would accompany me?” She nodded, carefully holding her skirt. “Oh, of… of course, my King.” The two were enjoying the calm quiet of his halls, the soft yet impenetrable silence of snow falling and she shivered, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “The cold not to your liking?” He was teasing her again, earning a stifled laugh and a small flush against her cheeks. 

“Oh, it… it’s all right, I’m getting used to it, but… I don’t like freezing.” It was his turn to laugh then, and Thranduil drew her in closer, sharing his cloak with her. “This I can definitely get used to,” Sara almost shuddered with relief against his side, her arm going around his back and a soft sigh left her. “ _ Meleth-nin _ , is something troubling you?” 

“Hm? Oh, no, actually. I’m just… really happy. For the first time in my life, I think I’m truly happy where I’m at.” As he hummed, his fingers traced idly down her side to her hip. “And my asking your father for permission had no effect on that?” He quirked his eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “No, none whatsoever,” she teased, unable to stifle her laughter and kissed his shoulder. “Though I’m surprised, actually. Not that you asked, but that he didn’t interrogate you for hours on your intentions with me.” They drifted through a clearing of trees, snow almost silencing their steps. “And this tells you, what, since he hasn’t given me such an interrogation?” Her hazel met his sterling at his question and smiled tenderly. “It means he trusts you with me, that he knows I’m safe with you.” There was an odd sense of relief that settled over the Elvenking's shoulders. Sara felt it, and to comfort him further, traced along his spine with her fingertips. 

Though the two would have loved nothing more than to remain in each other’s company, a guard bounded toward them, bowing slightly. “My lord, the council has sent word and will be arriving within a fortnight, wishing to discuss the battle and the events within.” Thranduil sighed, heavily, then brought Sara’s fingers to his lips. “Then I must make preparations. I hope you can understand,  _ meleth _ .” She nodded, hazel eyes bright and cupped his cheek. “Of course, do what you need to. I won’t go anywhere.” Though he needed to make preparations elsewhere, the elvenking had guided her to the covered portion of his halls, free from snow along the paths. “Take all the time you need, my King,” the princess gave a low curtsey, watching as he left, shivering slightly. It was colder without him near, but… the elvenking had king’s business to attend to, and she wouldn’t stand in the way of such a thing. Yet as she returned to her own chambers, without a soul to talk to, her mind was left to wander. The council would hear of their involvement. What would they say? Would they even grant Thranduil the exception to marry her as he wanted, as they both wanted? 

She never wanted to be viewed as a replacement for his first wife, and he swore she wasn’t, that she was new, that she gave him a new sense of life and love, and while she believed him, she also worried about being good enough for him. Certainly, she had to be if he wanted her for eternity, right? If he wanted it known across Middle Earth, especially. She would never age and never get sick, a reality that was still earth-shattering to comprehend, and knew it would take time to free herself from the mindset of the neglect and treatment she’d suffered from others, but the doubt continued to plague her incessantly. With a groan, she began to pace, tapping her lips in thought. She needed to distract herself, but how? It was uncertain how long he’d be away preparing for the council’s arrival, and she didn’t want to interrupt. He  _ just  _ left to take care of things! Sara huffed, changing into pants and a tunic with her boots, twisting her hair back and bounded for the training yard. The exertion would be a blessing in that moment. 

When she arrived, she noticed that a few soldiers were about, but it was mostly bare, the snow hardly treaded upon. A few targets were still positioned, as well as training dummies for the new recruits. Not wanting to disturb the soldiers who seemed rather preoccupied, she helped herself to the rack of bows, picking one before grabbing a quiver that still had arrows in it and a brace, fastening it before choosing one of the targets. She knew her archery was rusty, and it helped to have the cold freezing all other thoughts from her mind as she focused on the target, firing arrow after arrow. She only stopped when her fingers began to ache from the cold, propping the bow against her leg and flexed them a few times. Well, her aim was improving at least, finding her shots had reached impeccably close to the target. Still, she was a perfectionist, ever-critical of herself and everything she did, and retrieved the arrows from where they’d struck, intent to do it again. She’d retaken her original position, readying an arrow when black overtook her vision, unable to see, but the voice around her was clear. 

_ “She’s gone- again! Find her!” _ Sauron was infuriated, and as the sound overtook her, the girl dropped to her knees, he continued speaking.  _ “Two gateways remain open, the third has closed entirely. See to it they remain as such. We need more flesh!”  _ When she came back to herself, the training grounds filling her vision, Sara was panting, clutching her chest. Sauron was still searching for her, and there had been three gateways opened, but one had closed… what did that mean? The realization struck her, and immediately replacing the bow and quiver, the princess bolted to the library, frantic as she searched for maps and various tomes on the evil magic Sauron had used. She remembered her brother remarking how he was further west, far enough for their father to find him, and she had been found in Eryn Galen, which everyone continued to call Mirkwood, then… that meant… where was Tanna found? They were brought through three gates, and one of theirs had closed. Whose was it? Sara pored incessantly over the maps, to the point the librarian found her frantic, obsessive, and had quietly left her to her musings to inform the elvenking.

“Okay, Jimmy… Jimmy, where did you say you were…” She marked where Legolas and the Elvenking's patrol had found her upon running from orcs, noting the time it took to get her from there to the halls of the woodland realm, then remembered where her brother said he’d found himself, in the woods just away from Harlindon… “Tanna… Tanna… there has to be a way to reach you… where did you come through…” After marking where her brother had been found, Sara took parchment with the quill and ink and began to scribble a letter for the lady wizard Ereala.

_ Tanna, _

__ _ I hope your journey with Legolas has been kind to you, and I’m faring quite well, so don’t worry about me. I have an urgent matter that I must speak with you on. Wherever you may be, would you and Prince Legolas please return to the Greenwood? I miss you greatly, my friend, and may your adventures be merry and filled with wonder. Until we meet again,  _

__ __ _ Sara _

“A letter to Tanna?” Sara whirled, startled as she heard Thranduil behind her, the two having almost no space between them. “My King! Startled me- makes me think I need to get you a bell so I know when you’re coming.” He smirked teasingly, stroking her cheek. “And where would be the fun in such a thing? I quite enjoy seeing you become disheveled when you think no one is present to view you.” Color rose against her features and she squeaked, drawing laughter from him, but the sound sobered as his expression turned to concern. “ _ Meleth-nin _ , the librarian summoned me here. He informs me that you seem frantic over something. Has something happened?” She hadn’t lied to him before, and she knew it would do no good to start, even if she didn’t want to add more worries to his plate. “Well, I… I was practicing my archery and…” With a heavy sigh, she explained the way her vision disappeared, then hearing Sauron speaking of trying to find her before the dark lord had mentioned three gateways, one of which was closed. “And now I’m trying to find out where my friend came through, so that’s why I’ve written her, to see where she came through and if there’s anything significant about how my brother, myself, and her were all pulled from different locations.” 

Curious, the elvenking pored over the map, noting the places she’d marked and with the labels, tracing a path between the forests near Harlindon and the location she’d been found in his own realm. His fingertip then traced a triangular shape, down to the valley of Gondor, leaving a vast space of mountain ranges with the labels of Moria and Isengard, and he paused entirely, as if recalling a terrible memory. “Thranduil?  _ Guren _ , what is it?” The map and parchment had instantly been scattered and he met her gaze, a flurry of emotions passing in his own. “When your friend arrives, we can only hope her entrance to Middle Earth wasn’t in the valley of Gondor.” His reply only served to add to her confusion, but when she moved to retrieve the scattered map and her letter, he took her wrist. “Foul things lie between the locations in which you and your brother were discovered,  _ ithildin _ . An encroaching darkness that has been seen before, and seeks to make itself present again.” His grip had tightened a fraction, protectively, and it wasn’t anger she saw in her king’s eyes, but fear. “You are not to leave these halls again, Aranel, I forbid it.” Sara bit her lip, her own anxiety swelling, but to calm him, she swallowed it and nodded her agreement. “Yes, my King, but…” His jaw set, those ice blue eyes the shade of steel as he looked down to her. “No buts,” he insisted. “I strictly forbid you leaving, and that’s final. Do you understand?” 

His tone was biting, almost growling, and though her breath hitched, she swallowed. “I… I understand, I just…” She fell silent, remembering what she’d read in her own world of the battles he’d faced and of who he’d lost, her voice growing smaller. “I won’t leave. I never had that intention, I was just trying to figure out the locations… There's something going on, and it's bothering me.” Thranduil blew out a sharp, shuddering breath and took her in his arms, cradling the back of her head. “I didn’t mean to worry you, my King.” Sara’s arms had gone around him, taking in the scents of clove and cardamom, the masculinity present and felt herself relax against him. “No,  _ meleth _ , you don’t need to apologize, but I cannot let you leave this kingdom, for your own safety.” He shuddered slightly as he held her, and she knew it was because of all he’d lost before ever encountering her. It was selfish, Thranduil knew that, but he wouldn’t lose her if he could help it. He refused, his mind warring with his past and present, dwelling on the gateways she said were still open from what she’d heard. Which meant she had the capability to leave Middle Earth for good. No. It couldn’t happen.

He hadn’t forgotten her promise, reminding himself of it consistently, but the thing that gave him the most reassurance was her physical presence, being there in his arms. “Did… did you finish making preparations for the council?” Sara’s words were cautious, leaning back slightly to meet his gaze. “If you need to go and do more, I can-” 

“The council can wait,” he murmured, keeping her chin tilted up to him. “I’m not letting you from my sight right now.” A sound caught in her throat, one the elvenking swallowed as his lips reclaimed hers in a ferocity she wasn’t expecting. The sound had changed, devolving into a weakened, muffled cry of surprise and desire, her back connecting with a wall. Sara held his face, fingers shifting to run through his hair as he discarded his cloak and lifted her by her thighs, leaving no space between them as her legs wrapped around his waist. The hardened muscle of his frame made her stomach tighten as he kept her pinned, nipping her lip and delving his tongue within the warm, wet cavern of her mouth, exploring possessively. 

She couldn’t stifle the moan he drew from her, a hand digging into his back as he conquered her with only his tongue, her figure heating to new heights. Abruptly, he broke the kiss, leaving them gasping raggedly, their chests heaving, but the darkened glimmer in those icy orbs insisted he wasn’t finished and tilted her head to the side. Thranduil brought his lips to her neck, relishing in the exotic taste of her skin, running them over her pulse as the muscle languidly glided over the vein, his teeth sinking in soon after. “Ah! My King…!” Her moan into the open air sent a shiver down his spine, squeezing her thigh tight enough to bruise, his other hand trailing from her leg to her arching chest, taking a breast in his hand. While he was aggressive, his touch over her was gentle, testing the waters, his fingertips tracing over a hardened peak and pulling a blissful sigh from her swollen lips. He felt her grow hot against him, spurning a growl to shake his chest and kneaded her with more pressure than he’d intended. A moan caught in her throat, panting still as she gave him the room he wanted, tilting her head further for his lips to catch more of her neck. 

Thranduil’s eyes had opened, being closed from relishing in every sound, every movement, every part of her that it was uncontrollable, and saw he’d left a darkened bruise beneath her jaw. “Aranel…” He rasped her name, the sound thick and heavy with a desire of his own, seeing her features were flushed, and it took more willpower than he knew possible to stop in that moment. Sara whined, chewing her lip as her eyes opened, hooded and meeting his gaze with desperation and lust. “Thranduil… you can… you can keep going. I don’t mind… I liked it…” The admission was solely for him, quiet, breathless, and though he would have loved nothing more than to take her, he couldn’t. It was too crass, it held too much aggression, and he wanted her first time with him to be a fond remembrance of something wholly intoxicating. He sighed heavily and rested his forehead against hers, stroking her sides affectionately. “ _ Meleth-nin _ , I would love nothing more than to have you in entirety, to give you unending bliss, but not this way. Your first time should be where you’re treasured, not pawed at as if you’re no more than a fresh hunt. And for that, we will wait until the proper moment.” 

Her entire body ached, and Sara knew she was wet for him, but still, she nodded, heart filled to bursting at his proclamation. “Okay… I… I’ve never had that before.” His features had softened, lust still present but entwining with understanding as he pressed his lips to hers. “I suspected as much _ ,  _ and I intend to rectify that. I must apologize, however, as it seems I’ve left a mark on your flawless skin.” He smirked, but the apology was sincere, and the princess shook her head. “You don’t… you don’t need to apologize for that, my King- Thranduil, I… I like the reminder.” Gently, the elvenking eased her to her feet, releasing her only when she caught proper footing, and retrieved his cloak from the floor. Sara’s thighs squeezed together before she remembered the letter to her friend, seeing the king scoop it up along with the map and handed her the parchment. “I believe you want to see this off?” She inclined her head, and he escorted her from the library, hand on the small of her back before his lips were at her ear. “If you like reminders such as that, perhaps your king should be more demanding in his claim of you.” 

A desperate sense of need had drawn Sara’s core to ache almost painfully, her breath hitching and stifling a whimper, covering her mouth as she met his gaze. Fuck… he had figured out how weak she became in his dominance over her, his grin becoming wicked. “Don’t even think about relieving yourself,  _ meleth _ ,” he warned, the edge still present in his tone. “That is something only I will have the pleasure of fulfilling, and you cannot deny your king.” The whimper broke free, though muffled, and though both were maddened by one another, his length pulsing to fill her, he remained absolute. “Y-Yes, my King.” Her voice was small, submissive, possessing a hint of a whine that threatened to crumble his resolve. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a calming breath, leaving a kiss against her temple. “You will be rewarded for it later,  _ ithildin _ , but for now, I must finish preparations.” She cleared her throat and gave a low curtsey, inclining her head. As he departed, she felt her legs shiver, the desire still coiled within her tight enough to snap. Distraction.. She needed another distraction. Sara remembered the parchment in her hand and briefly returned to the library, folding it properly before gathering the wax she would need and Thranduil’s seal, then found a messenger to deliver it. Thankfully, the messenger was outside, and it was biting enough in the open air that it significantly cooled her heated desire for the elvenking. 

She was returning to her chambers when she saw him again, noticing the gleam in his hypnotizing stare, a silent command for her to not pleasure herself, spurning the color back to her features. Sara bit her lip, demurely tucking her head down as she went to her room, flopping on the bed with a strained sigh. Her legs crossed as she put a pillow to her face, groaning loudly against the fabric. She wanted to come, she was still desperate for it, and it only took a glance from the elvenking to return her lust. The more she dwelled on the events that would take place, she felt her scars ache, sparking another worry. Would he even want her then? She knew he had his own, knew he was present when she was torn open, and he was even teaching her a glamour, but… she couldn’t hold the concealment. Her lust had vanished, replaced with self-loathing, untying the laces in her tunic to look over the garish reminder of Sauron’s wrath. Her breaths shook, willing herself not to cry, and rubbed over them with uncertainty. Thranduil would probably look away… most did when it came to her scars, but he wasn’t like anyone else. Still, her doubt continued, even as she fixed her attire and began scribbling in her journal. 

After what felt like hours, her hand had cramped significantly, and she’d filled pages of her journal with catching up on everything within the woodland realm. A few tears were shed, remembering the battle, Kili, Tauriel, and everything else that had happened, but she’d forgotten the discomfort over her wounds. It had grown darker out, and she knew it was close to supper, closing the book and left her room. The meal itself housed hardly anyone save for her and the elvenking, and he had her sit to his right with her sensing his anguish for his son. Under the table, Sara put her hand on his knee, wide hazel filled with concern. “My King?” Eyes of steel met her worry, and she could see his jaw flex as though he wanted to say something. “Don’t fret, Aranel, there’s nothing to worry over.” Her lips had parted to speak, her eyebrows knit together in her wanting to protest, but he silenced her with the barest purse of his lips.  _ “I just want to help, guren, that’s all… do you want me to go to your chambers tonight or…”  _

He’d heard her, his hand holding hers under the table.  _ “If it is what you want, meleth-nin.”  _ Sara exhaled sharply, but her touch remained tender.  _ “I’m not asking because I want it, I want to know if you want me there with you. It’s okay to talk to me, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk at all, but I’m worried about you.”  _ He’d blinked a few times, surprised that, even though it was telepathic, that she was insistent, almost forceful with him in conveyance of her concern. It brought a soft smile to his lips, and he gently squeezed her fingers.  _ “Then yes, ithildin. Come to me tonight, bring whatever you wish. I think this night may prove to be a lengthy one.”  _ She was unsure of what those words meant, knowing it could be anything and gave him a soft grin of her own.  _ “Then I’ll see you tonight, aran nin.”  _ The rest of the meal passed in silence, and Sara ate what she could, her nerves in fits that were only calmed by the gentle touches of Thranduil’s fingertips against her hand, which remained on his knee and gave him more comfort than she could know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut is coming soon ;)


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara joins Thranduil in his chambers with the intent to comfort him, but the night turns into much more. He comforts her, and she does the same for him, and a little bit of smut ensues~

After supper, she politely excused herself and went to her chambers, switching her clothes into her sleeping gown and brought a couple of books before padding silently to Thranduil’s room, stepping inside just as quiet. He could hear her soft breaths, knowing exactly where she was, a half-smile spreading over his features. He finished a letter to Rinnion, informing him of the decision he’d made with his daughter, requesting the Westlands king’s return whenever possible to start things officially. Thranduil rose from his desk, turning and spotting her in a sleeping gown that fell over her figure like running water, stealing the breath from his lungs and hunger rose in his pale orbs. Each curve was visible, beckoning to him and tempting him to sink his fingers within her skin, to draw cries from her so loud, they would wake the rest of his halls. Her bright hazel eyes were shimmering brilliantly in the torchlight, and before spotting him, was admiring the flowers encased in glass that remained alive. He was behind her, his arms wrapping around her stomach and kissed her shoulder, his eyes lingering on her exposed collarbones, briefly seeing the tips of her scars. The elvenking let his fingers drift upward, along her arm as the shade of roses colored her cheeks, darkening when he’d reached her collarbone.

Yet as he drew closer to her scars, she became rigid, and the flush had changed, tucking her head down, trying to make herself smaller.  _ “Ithildin _ …” She was ashamed, and her breath hitched as she rubbed over them, as if trying to will them to disappear. “I… I’m sorry, I just… I can’t hold my glamour for long and the last thing I want is to turn you away from me.” Thranduil was unaware she already knew of his dragon-fire scars, that she’d seen them from a distance, but his expression bore only compassion and love, his lips pressing against her head. “You never could,  _ meleth-nin _ ,” he promised. He guided her further inside, sensing her discomfort and uncertainty and gently removed the books from her arms. She withdrew a little more, almost embracing herself, but the elvenking coaxed her to let go, tilting her chin up. “We have both been scarred by horrors that should never have been, and I, of all people, am the last to turn from the wonders you offer me.” 

Hazel searched his icy blue and her eyebrows knit together as if confused. “But… but you’re… you’re the king,” she spoke softly, almost whispering, and internally swore at herself. She came to comfort him, not the other way around. “You could have anyone-” Her words were cut short when his lips pressed against her forehead, his fingertips stroking her cheek. “I don’t want ‘anyone’, Aranel, just you. You, and everything you will readily give me.” She remained uncertain, but his words sparked some sense of relief as she inclined her head, yet she brought her hand over the scars again. “May I…?” 

“I… yes, my King.” He’d taken her hand from her scars, holding it in his own and brought their lips together. Soft, gentle, lingering for a few moments when he traveled lower, the same tenderness displayed against her jaw, and lower still to her throat. Thranduil had reached her collarbones when her breath caught, but he continued his descent, lips lingering at the tips of her scars. Briefly, she tensed, clutching his arm, but his touch never differed, and slowly, he eased the sleeping gown to hang from her shoulders, revealing more of the pinkened skin of her marks. 

Three large claw-like marks had taken what little confidence she had in herself and destroyed it. “There is no part of you that I do not intend to lavish with affection, Sara, no part that I find more or less appealing than any other,” he murmured against the marks and goosebumps trailed down her spine, feeling his breath against the scars driving her heart to thump harder. He’d used her birth name again… She quickly swallowed the growing knot in her throat, but the lump only increased in size, her breath leaving as he pressed another lingering kiss against the marks. “For every inch you give me is something to be treasured. Beauty does not equate to flawlessness, and  _ meleth-nin _ , you remain forever captivating in my eyes.” She’d lost the capacity to speak, her grip loosening on his arm, earning a small grin from the elvenking. Yet his own worry grew. If she had detested her scars so much, would she reject him for the ones he concealed? He never told her about them, and as his anxiety bloomed into something more, Sara felt the tension. 

“Thranduil?  _ Guren _ , what’s the matter?” Even the Great Elvenking had momentarily entertained the thought of never showing her what lay beneath his glamour. He sighed, the warmth and sweetness of his breath sending shivers down her spine when he left another press of his lips to her skin. “We are not so different from one another,  _ meleth _ .” She swallowed, her concern outweighing her insecurity as Thranduil kept his face from her, and she felt something shift around them. Slowly, he raised his head, showing her the scars beneath his enchantment, expecting her to recoil. Sara’s mouth parted in speechlessness. His scars… She could see into the muscle, almost to the bone, holes around his lips as angry scales of burning red covered half his face. Even one of his eyes, his beautiful pale blue eyes, was white, blinded. At first, she felt his dejection, spotting the worry in his features. When she raised her hand, he never moved, but she felt him tense considerably. “Do they hurt?” Sara brought herself closer, their chests pressing together and lightly traced the outside of his marks. “From time to time,” he admitted quietly. “I felt it only right you know you’re not alone.”

Never once did he see pity in her eyes. All Thranduil could see when he searched her features was love and compassion, as he’d given her. “Do they hurt right now?” Her voice was gentle as before, but his worry still remained. Was she averse to him now? Quietly, he shook his head, not quite meeting her gaze, and the princess felt her heart break. The two lingered there, and he allowed her to continue tracing his scars. Carefully, she brought him closer to her level, giving her the opportunity to- a sharp breath left him, feeling her lips against his scars. She started from the top, next to his eyebrow, and slowly worked her way to his eye, kissing over the lid. The elvenking’s hold on her had tightened and he sank to his knees, but she only left more gentle tokens of her love against his marks. “I love you,” she murmured between kisses. “I love every part of you, no matter how much it may pain you. You are no less a king, nor an elf, for harboring these,  _ guren _ . You have a strength others can only dream of, and I count myself the luckiest person in any world to be able to have you trust me, to have you care for me, and I only want to give you the same. I am yours, now and forever, and you never need to hide from me.” She finished at the corner of his mouth, lingering there the longest and finally held his face, on her knees in front of him. He couldn’t retain the tear that had left, bringing his arms around her. 

The love she felt from him could have knocked her to the ground had she not been kneeling with him, and her hands remained, even though his glamour was returning. “You… Aranel…” Both eyes were a brilliant silver hue, meeting her hazel again. “Sara… I believe you were mistaken on at least one thing,  _ meleth-nin _ .” A gentle smile had spread, but her confusion grew and he laughed lightly, holding her to his chest. “It is I that holds fortune’s favor in gaining your love, your trust, and I will spend our eternity treasuring you.” Thranduil tilted her chin up once more, bringing his lips to hers in a way that reminded her of the first time, her lungs aching as though she needed him to breathe. She felt his need for her, as if he refused to part from her for even an instant, scooping her in his arms and carrying her to his bed. She’d slept in there only once, but it was on the sofa. Any other time they’d stayed together, it was always in her chambers. He lay her down as if she were spun glass, their lips only parting to catch their breath. 

There was that intoxicating flush over her features, and her shoulders were still exposed from him easing the sleeping gown away to kiss the scars left on her. She chewed on her lower lip as she searched his gaze, her thighs rubbing together as he hovered over her. “Not yet,  _ meleth _ , but there is something I’ve craved to know for some time now. Lie back for me.” A gentle command, but one she obeyed, and the trust shimmering in her eyes was unparalleled, the princess running her small hands over his arms. “What… what do you want to know?” Thranduil hummed, grinning as he reclaimed her lips, letting a hand wander along her side and rest at her thigh. His tongue had slipped between her lips, coaxing hers to move as his did, his fingertips tracing toward the inner part of her leg and drifting closer to her core. He swallowed her whimper, then massaged her thigh, only pulling his kiss back briefly to give her an answer. “I want to know how you sound crying my name when you know nothing but ecstasy.” Just as the words left his lips, a sound of desire stuck in her throat, breaths catching and her fingers twisted in his robes. “Th-Thranduil…” His gaze had darkened, meeting her own with a wicked glimmer. 

“Those soft sighs have become music to me,  _ meleth-nin _ , but it is a symphony I seek to conduct from you.” The sound of desire had left her lips, their noses brushing, and the princess swore breathlessly. “Oh fuck…” The king quirked an eyebrow, but her utterance sent a shiver down his spine. “Swearing is unbecoming of a lady,  _ ithildin _ , but tonight, I’ll allow it.” There was a desperation in Sara’s eyes, her lust reignited for the elvenking tenfold of what it had been before. Then again, she also felt anything he strongly felt, and she could feel his want of her, spurning her further. She nodded, her slender fingers drifting over his jaw, as if softly pleading for him to kiss her. It had been a long time since he’d had any contact of this nature, and while he wasn’t intending to take her that night, he had to hear her, to know what she sounded like when he brought her to release. Thranduil groaned against her lips, still hovering above her and her hands went to his back, arching herself to get closer. He’d propped himself on his elbow as to not crush her, the other hand tracing where it had been before, the barrier between their skin a frustration he sought to remove. “My King…” 

Hazel eyes were pleading as she stared lovingly at him, her breaths panting as she shivered from his touch. Yet, despite her love, a familiar fear had nestled itself in her chest, bringing forth a small tremble of her figure. It was as though the elvenking could sense her fear, and met her gaze with a comforting gleam in his own. “If you wish to stop, tell me and we’ll do so. No questions asked,  _ meleth. _ ” Sara swallowed, nodding. “I… I’m yours, and… and I want to keep going,” she admitted softly. “I-” 

“You will come to no harm with me, my word remains that you shall be handled gently.” To prove his point, Thranduil briefly brushed his nose against hers, leaving featherlight kisses against her features. His fingers, which had been brushing along her thigh, began to shift her skirts upward with little, barely-there movements. “I love you,” her voice remained gentle as her own fingers drifted through his hair, which had shielded their faces like a curtain. “And I, you,” he murmured, his lips more demanding against her own. A weak moan caught in her throat, her touch timid as her hands outstretched over his chest and felt the muscle ripple beneath the fabric. 

Should she…? He said he wasn’t taking it to the fullest extent yet, but she also wanted to know what lay beneath the silk that covered him. With her silent dilemma, her fingers moved of their own accord to the decorative adornments in front, tracing over them as his tongue began to conquer her own. With another squeeze of her thigh, the elvenking took in her moan of surprise, humming in delight as the princess began to relax, her legs easing apart at his coaxing. Her hands were bliss over his chest, and a quiet laugh shook him as he felt her fingers tracing the seams to remove his robes. “ _ Meleth e-guilen _ , it feels as though you’re becoming quite eager,” his tease darkened the flush against her features, and he saw her chewing on that swollen lip again, sparking his desire further. “Mmn… please… please, can I see you, my King?” 

“Call my name, Aranel.” A sound of want left her, almost pleading as she searched his darkened gaze with hooded lids. “Thranduil, my King,  _ please _ … please let me see you.” He stroked her cheek with adoration, her submissiveness sparking his dominance further. “You beg so sweetly for me,” he was almost purring in the shell of her ear then, tongue tracing the outer line before taking her earlobe between his teeth and nipping her. 

Sara’s hold had tightened as he sparked another soft cry, and brought his gaze to meet hers again. “What seems to be stopping you,  _ ithildin _ ?” Swallowing, breaths short, she knew he meant for  _ her  _ to take the robes off of him. Her fingers trembled, but as she unfastened the collar, just beneath the hollow of his throat, her desire for him outweighed her uncertainty. That neck of his should have been marked as a sin of its own, alluring her beyond sense as it accentuated his jawline. There was no rush, that was what she had to remind herself of, and her movements were purposeful, wanting to relish in the reality that he was there, that they were together. As she continued to unfasten his robes, Thranduil’s touch had returned to her figure, tracing along her skin with touches so light, gooseflesh rose along her arms, and the sensation was enough to pause her undressing the elvenking. A throaty laugh stuck in his chest, the king running his fingertips idly between her breasts and down to her navel, just a few inches below her bellybutton and back. It made her ache for him more, and the princess’s fingers twisted in his robes briefly as her stomach tightened, noticing the skirts of her gown had been inched to her knees. 

With each unfastened piece, her fingertips traced beneath the fabric, feeling he wore a tunic beneath it, but the warmth he radiated had entranced her. The lower she went, knowing how close she was to his length, she exhaled shakily, helping him remove the robes from his frame. His broad frame seemed bigger somehow, as if he could devour her without moving, and each taut muscle she could feel had rippled under her touch. He hadn’t even bared his chest to her and already, she was entranced by him, more so, as they were finally alone together. As she lingered, a soft growl left him, and Thranduil’s lips were at her neck, nipping gently. “You’re not finished yet,  _ meleth _ ,” his breath against her skin made her own catch, a quiet sigh escaping with another lingering kiss against her throat. “The tunic too.” He was driving her insane with each command, and a needy sound stuck in her chest. Sara’s fingers drifted lower, just at the hem of his slacks, her fingers trembling as she took the tunic and began to untuck it from them, pushing the fabric up. Thranduil rose from her, long enough to remove the tunic from his chest, and the princess took in a sharp breath.

He was perfect in every sense of the word, his pale skin that covered the immaculate muscle was firm, almost hot to the touch, nearly driving an unbidden moan from her lips. “Thranduil…” Reaching for him, the elvenking took her hands and put them just below his stomach. She swallowed thickly, seeing what lay barricaded from his slacks and met his eyes, darkened to sapphires in his want of her. “You see what you’ve done to me, Aranel?” The weak moan broke free, her thighs rubbing together as she nodded. “Y-Yes, my King. Do I-” Thranduil’s expression softened, holding her cheek. “Not yet,  _ meleth-nin _ , I will not be taking my pleasure of you this night.” Though his tone was gentle, the insistence was clear. “But-” Her words were cut short with his lips on hers. “You truly tempt me, Aranel. You make it difficult to restrain myself.” He’d said it again, and Sara became shy, chewing her lip once more. “I… I’m sorry…” He had propped on his elbow again, resuming where he’d been and lay over her once more, tilting her chin up. “There is nothing to be sorry for,  _ meleth _ , not with this. You needn’t worry over that.” But he knew she would, he’d been around her long enough to remember that much. 

Sara’s hands had drifted over the impeccable structure of his chest, lingering as she traced the contours with painstaking slowness, and his free hand rested on her hip, tracing her side as he inched her gown further up, the hem resting just under her core. When his touch brushed over the silken skin of her legs, she drew in a sharp breath. His hands, while warm through the fabric of her gown, were almost feverish directly against her skin, and their eyes lingered to one another. Thranduil never had to ask, but his darkened stare was inquisitive with a touch of hope. “Will you let me see you,  _ ithildin _ ? Completely?” She nodded to give him permission, just as his hand moved beneath the swell of her, fingertips tracing the curve of her breast. He could feel her bindings beneath, and as his hand cupped her, her fingers dug into his back. The elvenking didn’t seek to bare her immediately, testing the boundaries to find what she would allow. His lips reclaimed hers as he caressed and kneaded her, finding an aching peak and rolled it between his fingers as he swallowed her moan. The sweetness of flowers enveloped him with every shuddering breath from her, his hand moving from her arched chest to the bindings that restricted them, untwisting and unraveling the annoyance before shifting it away from her, all without even removing her sleeping gown. 

Once freed, he could see her nerves shining through, but the elvenking remained gentle, choosing to caress and massage her through the gown. “Thranduil, I… I love you.” Her desire was evident as she called for him, their lips only breaths apart, bringing an affectionate smile to his features. “And I love you, Sara, my sweet princess.” She arched into his touch, her peaks aching terribly for some sort of relief, holding onto him. From the muscles in his back alone, she could have lost herself. She could taste the cinnamon on his tongue, and the sweetness of the wine as the muscle delved in her mouth and conquered her own. Thranduil inched the hem down further, exposing her breasts to him in entirety, darkening the flush in her features. Still insecure, she waited for some reaction of disgust, or aversion, but the elvenking’s gaze turned hungry, lips parting as his fingers traced her peaks. “Oh,  _ meleth-nin _ , I fear I may lose this battle, yet I do not know if I truly wished to win it to start.” What did he- “Ohhh…” His lips had moved, tongue swirling around a peak before taking it in his mouth, flicking over the hardened bud. Slow at first, then it became quicker as Sara’s fingers twisted in the sheets and arched against him.

Thranduil had taken the other in his hand, feeling her fingers in his hair. He nipped her, drawing an evocative cry from her lips that shifted to a lengthy moan as he sucked at the peak. “Thranduil…” She was panting already, hazel eyes closed in bliss, and he moved to the other, kissing a path and lingered over her heart. “ _ ‘Law lin sila sui Ithil _ .” His Elvish against her skin made her whimper, his declaration of her being as radiant as the moon almost making her head spin. A soft cry tumbled from her swollen lips as he mimicked his actions on her other breast, lavishing her with the attention he swore she deserved. As he did so, Thranduil began to shift the gown further from her chest, prompting her to free her arms, the garment now resting on her stomach. He lifted his head to bring their lips together, groaning as her kiss became needier than he’d thought. His hand drifted to her thighs, and she trembled, but her passion remained, and he knew then she was trembling in anticipation. 

Slowly, his fingertips traced her inner thigh, and when Sara began to ease her legs apart, he could feel the heat from her. “Sensitive,  _ meleth _ ?” He was teasing her, changing his pattern from drifting toward her core then down to her knees, earning a small whine. Thranduil quirked his eyebrow, clicking his tongue. “Answer me.” He’d paused entirely, causing Sara to shiver, trying to stifle another whine. “Y-Yes…” 

“Yes, what?” Part of the whine had freed itself and she nodded hurriedly. “Yes, my King, I… I’m very sensitive…” She was desperate for his touch, he was maddening her, and the smirk that illuminated his features was her only warning that it was just the beginning. Every brush against her skin, the way his tongue moved in her mouth or along her peaks, everything he did was driving her to the brink, and he hadn’t even grazed her core. He possessed millennia worth of patience, skill, and stamina, and she wasn’t a native of Middle Earth. Her fate was sealed, but it was one she readily accepted, and the elvenking couldn’t help the dark chuckle in his chest, inching the rest of her sleeping gown up to her stomach, his only barrier to her core being her smallclothes. 

The curve of her hips, the tone of her thighs… she was making him lose control. Thranduil noticed, however, that he had a similar effect on her, as he shifted to view her figure and found she’d made her smallclothes damp. He’d made her wet for him. Growling, he took her legs in his hands, willing himself not to tear her clothes away as to not scare her, but… “Thranduil-” Just the mere breath of his name and he snapped, taking her sleeping gown and shredding it from her figure, tossing it from the bed. Sara’s hair had surrounded her like a darkened halo, the flush lowering and expanding to her shoulders and chest as she stared up at him. There was no fear in her hazel eyes, only want- for him, and despite the sound of surprise she’d made, he could see her uncertainty, her shame in herself as she sought to cover the scars on her chest. “No,  _ meleth _ , do not hide from me.” Thranduil’s lust was still predominant, but his features had softened, taking her hands in his own. “Those are still a part of you, and another part I love. Please,  _ meleth-nin _ , do not hide them from me.” Her heart was torn between bursting and breaking as his hands removed her own from her chest, taking her lips in a fierce but loving kiss. “Okay,” she breathed, left only in her smallclothes. 

She held his face, tracing over his glamour of where his dragon-fire scars were, and the elvenking turned in to her touch, kissing her wrist. His gentleness had returned, tilting her head aside to linger at her neck, then to her scars, inhaling deeply the floral scent of her skin that somehow entwined with the scents of fruit, as if she were a wine of her own. “You are intoxicating,” he purred, his lips moving further down. Thranduil held her thighs, kneading the powerful muscle within, the gesture bringing her to spread herself once again. “I may have a taste to determine how drunk you can make me.” Her fingers twisted in the sheets, meeting his wicked smile with a darker flush, her chest heaving, catching when his lips met her skin. She briefly felt his touch glide along her clothed core and she jerked, the pleasure of it bringing a spasm as she drew in a startled breath. The sound twisted into a moan as he continued to run his fingers from her sensitive nerves to her entrance, teasing and adding little bits of pressure that drew more weakened mewls from her lips. “Mmmn… fuck…” He chuckled lowly, then ran teasing circles around her nerves, slow at first, then added a little more speed. 

Sara’s back arched, her knuckles white as she felt her release building, calling for the elvenking in a submissive tone. “Th-Thranduil… Thranduil, please… I… I’m gonna-” He stopped. The taut muscle within her frame, so ready to break for him, had unwound and left her quaking, and a louder, needier whine rattled her frame. “You will have release when I tell you, and not before,  _ ithildin _ . I trust you didn’t relieve yourself earlier?” Her head shook instantly, vehemently. “N-No, no, I swear I didn’t. Please, my King…” Thranduil hummed, on his knees and looked over her with a gaze that spoke volumes of carnal intent. He brought his lips to her aching peaks once more, but instead of lingering, his kisses began to lower, his thumbs hooking in the band of her smallclothes and inched them to her ankles, allowing her to kick them away. Each breath she released was catching, timidly reaching for him and ran her fingers through his silvery-blonde tresses. She was fully bare for him, and he paused once more, a hushed awe filling his features. “ _ Le bainon, mell nin _ , you leave me in wonder.  _ Thir vain lin darn thul nin. _ ” 

Tears stung her eyes at his praise and she swallowed thickly, chewing her lip before he claimed another kiss, nipping her lip and his tongue delved within, his hands coursing along every inch of bare flesh before him. As he did so, Thranduil’s touch had returned to her core, tracing the slit and a muffled moan had left her, one he readily devoured. Sara’s legs had spread to allow him more room, and the king groaned against her lips, feeling how slick she was for him already, how the delectable silkiness had spread and graced her thighs. He let a finger drift between her petals, then began to tease her entrance, circling but never delving within, then returned to her nerves and rubbed more aggressive circles upon it. Her moans were growing, clutching his back and her nails began to dig in, her thighs tightening. “Please-” She was pleading against his kiss, her hips rolling to heighten the pleasure he was giving her. “Please, my King… please, may I come?” Thranduil could feel her nails raking into his skin and he growled. “Beg for release,  _ meleth-nin _ , beg for me just as sweetly.” 

Sara bit her lip, her head falling back. “Please… please, my King… my Lord Thranduil, please!” His lips were at her ear, tongue tracing the edge. “Then come for me, and don’t hold back.” He rubbed harder, nipping at her throat when she became rigid, her back arching and pushing against him as she screamed his name, echoing off the stone. He didn’t stop, still aggressive against her nerves and extended her release, causing her eyes to sting from the force of it. As she came down, panting raggedly, her face went to his neck, and Thranduil brought his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste what she offered. He swore, tilting her head to meet his and conquered her mouth, pulling forth another weak moan. “Imagine my surprise to find out just how fast you find release. My sweet princess, you have stolen the breath from me, and your symphony hasn’t even concluded.” A small, disbelieving whimper left her lips as he pushed himself up, but as she began to rise as well, the king pushed her back. “No. You will not be leaving, and we aren’t finished yet.” 

Thranduil had gone to her legs, easing them apart as she watched, the two never breaking eye contact. “Am I your King,  _ meleth-nin _ ?” Sara whimpered again, but nodded, her knuckles in her mouth. “Well, your king wishes to claim what is rightfully his. Do you intend to stop me?” She shook her head, and it was evident just how submissive she truly was for him, spurning him further. The king had then settled between her legs, holding them apart in his impossibly powerful arms. Her thighs may have exuded strength, but Sara knew they were nothing compared to the Elvenking's might. She wasn’t going anywhere. He watched her core with adoration, seeing how it glistened in the lights of his chambers, and his lips were pressing against her thigh, his teeth nipping and drawing startled jerks from her. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, feeling his breath along her aching wet center, just before- “Hahhhh!” His tongue had flicked out, quickly along the slit and to her oversensitive nerves before withdrawing briefly. Her back had arched her to almost sit up entirely. Undeterred, the elvenking met her gaze again, a hunger alight in his own. She was far more intoxicating than his finest wine, and he would stay there to take in all she could give. 

His tongue was against her nerves again, flicking quickly and she fell back against the sheets, twisting her fingers in the pillow beneath her head as she mewled for him. Every sound enchanted him more than the last, and his tongue had drifted to her entrance, taking in the honey she gave before plunging within her. A small shriek left her lips, one of unbridled desperation, her slender fingers in his hair. “Thranduil!” The elvenking couldn’t suppress the moan that left him, both from hearing and tasting her. She had consumed him, and as he kept her hips pinned, he skillfully moved to have his fingers brush her bundle of nerves as his tongue continued stroking the walls within her. Sara’s core was quivering so soon, and she knew she could barely hold on, but her sensitivity between her old world and Middle Earth had drastically shifted- the smallest touch from Thranduil made her squeal. When his fingertips met her nerves, she began to squirm as if the sensation was too much to withstand. “ _ Gods _ … I… I…” He’d shifted then, his tongue and fingers trading places and sucked her clit into his mouth. “Thranduil!” 

No matter how much she squirmed, she couldn’t break from the overwhelming pleasure, and she felt as he eased a finger within her, but not completely. She felt the barrier as much as he did, giving away her purity. Sara bit her lip, meeting his darkened steel gaze before he scraped his teeth along her sensitive nerves and her head fell back, a small scream escaping. Thranduil stroked within her as much as he could without breaking the barrier, wanting to save that for when he would fill her. By the Valar, how he wanted to fill her, to have her completely wrapped around him in a way that no one else ever would. Her cries only tempted him further, her thighs trembling around his head as he persisted in his efforts, her core shivering and clenching around his finger. “Mmmmnn… Th-Thranduil… Thranduil, please… please can I come? Please, my King…” His low laughter shook his chest, sending shocks through her figure and for a moment, he removed his mouth from her. Sara whined, a tear escaping in frustration, panting ragged breaths as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. 

There was a tease in those darkened orbs. Thranduil licked his lips, then swirled his tongue around the finger he’d had inside her, groaning as though she tasted better than anything he’d ever experienced. “ _ Guren… Anno enni Enner vellas…”  _ She whined for him in Elvish, praying for strength and earning another rumbling laugh. He’d made her so overwhelmed, she couldn’t even use the common tongue. “ _ Estelio enni, meleth e-guilen _ .” As her breath caught, another sound of frustration resonated in her chest, but she nodded, her legs quivering in his hold. “ _ Estelion allen, Thranduil. Le melin…”  _ His features softened, kissing just above her nerves as he massaged her thighs. “I love you, too, Sara.” The princess inhaled sharply, and it immediately turned into a weakened moan, his tongue swirling around her tender nerves and took them into his mouth, sucking harshly against her. He didn’t desist that time, but increased his efforts, giving a subtle squeeze against her thighs to allow her the release she so desperately craved. Sara screamed into the night air, his name echoing off the stone and into the forest, even startling a few creatures. His tongue continued, never stopping but slowing, allowing her a chance to recover before he released her legs. 

A sob became strangled in her throat, her entire figure quaking as he hovered over her to bring their lips together. Thranduil traced gentle arcs against her side as Sara’s arms went around his shoulders, clinging to him as her overwhelmed cries remained soft. “Aranel… Sara… You’ve done so well,  _ meleth-nin _ . Perfect, absolutely perfect.” Thranduil brushed the tears from her cheeks, and though their kiss had broken, the princess could still taste herself from his tongue. “That… I… I’ve never… Ohh, I love you…” His forehead rested against hers as he gently lay on her, and she could feel his erection pressing against her despite the clothing barrier. His slacks were still on. “I love you, too,” he murmured tenderly, neither of them speaking for a moment while she caught her breath. “But.. but what about you? Thranduil, I… that’s not fair to you. Let me… let me give you something too, please?” Their noses brushed together and she held his face with a gentleness that could rival a bird’s wings. She was exhausted, but determined to do something for him. “Mmmm… though I would love nothing more, I can see the weariness growing in your starburst eyes,  _ meleth-nin _ .” 

Though the elvenking put her first, her eyebrows knit together in a pout. “But-” His lips took hers, silencing her protest, but Sara rolled her hips up and felt her core brush his length, earning a gasp from both of them. His size was impressive, she could feel that much, and Thranduil was stunned by her brazen behavior. As she whimpered from the sensation, a groan sounded deep within him, and his gaze had once again grown fierce in his want of her. It was her night, he was adamant about it, but she was starting to fight his order by provoking his lust to new heights. A shudder rippled down his spine and he pinned her hip to the bed, challenging her to make another move. “You would defy your king in this?” The dominant edge was in his tone, his voice had become lower, wicked, and she swallowed on instinct. “Yes…” Sara traced the contours of his chest and abdomen, admiring the perfection above her, only for him to pin her wrists on either side of her head. “Thranduil,  _ please _ … you need release too, not just me.” She was pleading for him to let her do something, but what, he couldn’t say. Sara twisted her wrists in his grip, her legs resting on his hips and her heels stroked the backs of his thighs. 

The two stayed there for a small time before Thranduil released her. Despite the stillness, his length was still pulsing with need for her, aching for something only she could give. It had been so long since he felt the touch she wanted to give, and Sara brought herself to sit, a leg on either side of him as she sat on his lap. He traced over her arms, then to her shoulders, threading his fingers through damp obsidian locks as her small hands rested on his shoulders. Sara traced his collarbones, bringing her lips to them and began to linger at his neck, letting her fingers drift lower before she reached the hem of his slacks. His eyes closed in bliss, her touch was addicting as she began to untie the strings of his pants, taking time with him as he’d done to her. “Aranel…” His call was throaty, his fingers pressing into her back when she slipped beneath his slacks, fingertips brushing his length. Thranduil couldn’t suppress the jerk of surprise and lust, keeping her against his chest. “Let me take care of you, my King,” she purred, nipping at his earlobe. “Please… I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t.” There was no space between them, his breaths were almost broken, but he leaned back, loosening his hold on her. 

Sara inched her way from his lap, a hand pressing to his chest and encouraged him to stay back enough for her to finish what she’d started. She still trembled, and the elvenking took her hands in his own. “Aranel, if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with-”

“O-Oh, it’s not that… I promise. I just… I want to make sure you enjoy it. I don’t have much experience, but I want to give you pleasure too.” Her wide hazel eyes searched his hooded mercury and chewed her lip, bringing herself up to meet his lips. “You already give me much more than you know,  _ meleth _ .” 

“Then indulge me?” He was already sure whatever she would do for him would be complete paradise, but he smirked and released her hands, and she began by kissing his chest, finally finished with untying his slacks. Before they were slid from him, however, her slender hands had coaxed his thighs, languidly caressing his length through the fabric. Thranduil’s moan was almost guttural, fisting the sheets as she continued her descent. 

“Ohh…” A whimper had left her. Sara’s fingers had eased under the fabric of his slacks, brushing his length to find it fiery, pulsing, and much larger than she’d initially thought. Whenever the elvenking decided to take her, she knew there was a likelihood of not walking for awhile after. “Sara…” Their eyes met, and she could have sworn the hue had darkened beyond sapphires, his lust taking her breath away. So he  _ did _ want her to. She couldn’t stifle the sound of desire that his own spurned from her, feeling her thighs become slick again. Carefully, she began to hook her fingers in his slacks, encouraging him to lift his hips. As she removed them, his shaft smacked against his abdomen in a soft clap, white coalescing at the tip. Sara bit her lip, her own gaze darkening with need for him. “Thranduil…” Every muscle in his frame was taut as she called his name, discarding his pants elsewhere. His feet were on the floor, and she gently pushed his knees apart, on her own before him as her large eyes glittered up at him. “I love you.” Her touch lingered on his thighs, starting at his knees and working her way up, trailing her lips along the flexing muscle. 

As her hands moved toward his cock, her lips followed, giving his thigh a brief nip and causing him to twitch. The gesture was so unlike him that she grinned before taking his shaft in her hand, her fingers curling around him. He swore again. First in Elvish, then in Khuzdul, his head falling back before returning to watch her. “ _ Le melin, Aranel. Orthach ‘uren ir tirach enni. Le melithon anuir.”  _ Her breath shuddered, but her heart could have burst, and she began to stroke him as his fingertips caressed her cheek. “I love you too,  _ guren _ . Forever.” Sara brought her head down as she kept pressure around him, tongue darting out under the head. Thranduil’s hand instantly went to her hair, stabilizing himself. Then, she took her other hand under him, stroking still as the other cupped him, twirling her tongue around the head before she took him into her mouth. “ _ Nan Belain!”  _ Every ripple he felt, she felt, tied to strong emotions from him, and Sara moaned around his length, her head lowering and taking more within her. Thranduil’s fingers had twisted in her hair as if to hold her there, yet she continued to stroke him as she hollowed her cheeks, tightening around him. 

“Sara…” He growled, unable to finish whatever he was about to say, watching as she continued to take him further in her mouth and shuddered when the head hit the back of her throat. Briefly, she removed her lips, meeting his gaze as a little saliva trickled down her chin. “Do you like it?” He almost laughed, roughly pulling her to him so he could conquer her lips in a fierce kiss. “You’re not finished yet,  _ princess _ .” Oh… oh the way he just growled… Sara felt his desire heighten and it pulled a moan from her, bringing her lips to the side of his cock and dragging her tongue down, then beneath, massaging his length as her strokes had more pressure. So lost in the sensations she was giving him, the elvenking rocked his hips against her hands, a sharp moan escaping when she took her lips to his sack, sucking against him. The moan devolved into a swear, his head falling back. Her tongue swirled and caressed him, flicking fast and slow, then dragged under his shaft before he was in her mouth once again. With his hand in her hair, Thranduil’s hips rocked, pushing further and down her throat and cutting the air from her. His size made it impossible to breathe, but she kept going, adding more pressure.

He took her hair, watching her features before her eyes met his, his chest heaving. “Aranel… Sara…  _ Fuck _ !” Her hands remained on him, her juices down her thighs to the point she was about to come without even touching herself. Sara moaned against his cock again, relishing in the pleasure she gave him despite her aching core. Thranduil tensed as she went harder and faster, his breaths and shouts of her name ragged as they escaped before she felt him come down her throat. Hot ropes that seemed endless, his hold impossibly tight against her hair as she kept herself on him until he’d finished. As his hold loosened, his frame slack, Sara pulled her mouth back, timidly wiping her chin, still on her knees before her king and swallowed his release. He saw her do so through hooded lids and growled again. “Thranduil…  _ meleth-nin _ …” Her voice rasped, her hands resting on his thighs as she bit her lip. The elvenking, still regaining his breath, leaned forward and took her into his arms, bringing her on the bed. 

“ _ Guren min gaim lin, Le melin _ .” The king had reclaimed her lips, tenderly as he ran his fingers through her hair, holding her with him. “I love you too,” she breathed, her forehead against his. “I love you so much, I-” Their lips had met again, cutting off her broken speech, the faerie exhausted as she held tight to him as much as she could. When the kiss broke, she blinked at him slowly, hazel eyes filled with love. “If you want to… to take me completely, I-” But Thranduil shook his head. “Not tonight,  _ ithildin _ , you’re unable to lift your head. If I’m not mistaken, dreams will claim your consciousness within the hour.” A small, weak whine left her, earning soft laughter from the king. “And you’re aware that intimacy for elves is equivalent to marriage?” A sound of confusion left her and she blearily opened her eyes, color returning to her features. His laughter was a little louder then, lips pressed to her forehead. “Well, then… what about…?” 

“What we just did?” When she nodded, he continued. “I would have no qualms in thinking it part of the betrothal.” The smile that spread over her features was giddy, and she nuzzled against his frame with a delighted squeak, her arms around him. 

“I’m just so happy that you want me,” her voice cracked, but he could hear her happiness, the elvenking content to hold her to him. “Without question,” he agreed. “No matter what may come to pass, we  _ will  _ have our union.” There was an insistence in his words, his determination bright and encompassing. “Thranduil…?” Sara’s small voice had begun to sound as though she was having trouble staying awake, but her eyes lifted to meet his. “Yes,  _ mell nin _ ?” Her fingertips traced his jaw, then held his face. “Will you let me see your scars again?” The question struck an odd chord within him, startling him, even bringing a twinge of worry, but he sighed and let down his glamour, uncertainty shining in his expression. Sara propped herself on her elbow, leaving more kisses along the scars. “These are part of you,” she was repeating his words back to him. “And I love them as much as any other. You are not flawed to me,  _ guren _ , you are the strongest person I’ve ever known, flawless before me, glamour or no. I love you, all of you, and that will never change.” 

Thranduil’s breath shuddered, his heart slamming against his ribs and almost deafened him. As his glamour slid back into place, he continued to hold Sara against his frame, pulling her to meet his lips. “ _ Le uivelin, Sara. _ ” She lay with her ear over his heart, her arm around his back. “ _ Le melin _ , _ my Thranduil _ .” In moments, she’d drifted off to sleep, the softest smile on her features before he too lay his head down, kissing the top of her head. “I will always be yours,  _ meleth-nin _ .  _ Elei velui. _ ” 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly filler, a bit of smut and unexpected guests arrive, which I'm sorry it doesn't have the right OOMPH to it >_<

Sara didn’t wake the next day until mid-afternoon, still bare and wrapped in silk sheets of the Elvenking’s bed. He wasn’t there. Her breath caught, and her fingers twisted in the sheets as she sat up, holding the silk over her chest as she gazed around. Where would he have gone…? Dejection washed over her, thinking he had changed his mind about her and she inched to the edge of the bed. “What could bring such pain to a beautiful visage?” His voice drifted to her, still a tender melody, and though she scoured the room, she couldn’t see him. “Thranduil?” A small chuckle left him then, and he appeared from around a pillar. He was already dressed, impeccable as ever, his crown set aside. There was a grin on his features, his gait smooth and regal even when it was only the two of them. “You were sleeping soundly,  _ meleth-nin _ , it pained me to think of waking you too soon. What troubles you upon first opening your eyes?” Sheepish, she chewed her lip and shook her head, the color darkening when he sat beside her. “It… it’s… it’s nothing,” she promised, nuzzling against his chest, his arm around her waist. “Just my brain running away with me, that’s all.” Thranduil hummed, tilting her chin up. “Would that enticing brain of yours be thinking of being mistreated again?” 

“I-” But she went silent. He was right, they both knew it, but what had baffled the faerie was his attention to detail- or his attention on her at all. He actually listened and paid attention to the things she’d talked to him about, and didn’t treat her worries as if they were unimportant. “I’m sorry,  _ guren _ … I’m trying to break myself of it.” He wasn’t offended, but the elvenking sighed, pressing his lips to her forehead before claiming her own in tender affection. “There is nothing to apologize for,  _ meleth _ , for it is not something that can be accomplished overnight. I would have you remember, however, that you’re no longer there, and they have no sway over you.” Sara nodded and curled closer to his chest, her shyness rising. She was still naked, in his bed, and her scars brought more insecurity. She had no idea how she was supposed to leave his bed, let alone his chambers, as anyone could walk in. Glancing around his chambers, she saw nothing in which she could dress herself- her sleeping gown had been shredded, and her smallclothes were nowhere to be found. The elvenking noticed her search and chuckled. “Did you think I’d forgotten, Aranel? Do you know how tempting it is to confine you to my chambers?”

_ Oh… _ Her stomach tightened and her thighs rubbed together, thinking of the previous night, a weak sound of desire catching in her throat. “I… Uhm…” The color had darkened significantly in her features, searching his striking mercury gaze with darkening hazel. “It would do you no good to try and depart in your current state,  _ meleth-nin _ . Would you like something retrieved for you?” As she chewed her lip, Thranduil removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, the material dwarfing her considerably. “Oh… you don’t have to, not if…” He began to smile, a wickedly carnal one that made her swallow. “If only there were no preparations to be made. I will return,  _ mell nin _ .” Kissing her forehead again, he left briefly to retrieve something for her to wear, and Sara deeply inhaled the scent of his cloak. Masculinity, clove, cinnamon, and apples filled her senses, everything so inherently Thranduil that she couldn’t prevent her wistful sigh, removing herself from the bed before she wavered. Her muscles were sore. Despite him not taking her, that he only… but her muscles had tensed in ways she’d never known.

Sara clutched the cloak tighter around her figure, padding around his chambers with new appreciation. She stood before what looked like a bath, a small pool of crystalline water just at her feet and carefully, she pulled the cloak up enough to dip her toe within. It was warm, as if it repelled the winter chill. Removing the cloak from her figure, the princess placed it where it wouldn’t get wet and inched herself into the water, sighing in content. Perfect temperature. She leaned back against the stone around it, then adjusted so she could wet her hair. As if on cue, Thranduil had returned to find her breaking the water’s surface, her entire figure glistening before him. He was a few feet behind her, his sterling orbs darkening again with hunger. Each curve beckoned to him- to look, to touch, to taste- and the elvenking felt a growl stick in his chest, robes covering him enough to disguise the obvious desire he possessed for her. Her hair had gotten longer since she’d been in his kingdom, no longer at the small of her back but had grown to rest under her backside, just at the tops of her thighs. By the Valar, those thighs…

Her cries replayed in his mind, and as he watched, he carefully set aside the gown and underclothes he’d retrieved for her, his shaft beginning to pulse with an all too familiar ache. And she was  _ his _ . Sara had inched to the opposite side of the water and lifted herself slightly, bent over, her essence in clear view, hair over her shoulder with those glimmering marks of her hidden wings covering her back. Thranduil bit his lip to suppress the groan rising, not wanting to startle her but unable to look away, remembering how sweet she tasted the night before. He crept closer when she started to hum to herself, searching for something to clean herself with, and began undressing to join her. Still, her hunt for soaps continued against the edge she currently bent herself over, giving the elvenking enough time to strip entirely, entirely erect as he began to silently enter the water behind her. Though he’d thought about wholly taking her, he shifted to his knees and crept closer, never once making a sound. Just as she began to straighten, Thranduil pressed a hand to her back, bending her over again, startling her. When she whimpered, her tension growing, he left a kiss on her thigh, a low laugh in his chest. “Shhh,  _ avaro naeth, Aranel. Le melin. _ ”

She stopped tensing, but her breaths remained short, turning her head to find he was at her core. “Th-Thranduil? What-” 

“If you want what I offer,  _ princess _ , then use my title.” Thranduil blew a small breath against her core, and a sound of desire shuddered from her chest. His hands traced along her thighs and backside, spreading her. When she didn’t answer immediately, and upon noticing the way she bit her lip when their eyes met, the elvenking tested a new tactic and his chambers were filled with the sound of skin cracking. “Ah! My King!” He’d spanked her, the imprint of his hand visible against her flesh when she yelped. “It’s an improvement, but you’ve yet to answer me, Aranel. Do you want what I offer, as your king?” A whine stuck in her throat but she nodded, almost panting. “Y-Yes, my King. Yes please…” His fingertips ghosted along her petals, feeling the unmistakable slickness that glittered before bringing the digits to his mouth with a low groan. “I doubt there’s anything in all of Middle Earth as sweet as the honey you so readily give me.” 

Thranduil inched her legs further apart, so much that she had no choice but to lay on the stone he bent her over just to retain any support, hearing her whimper and soft sounds of desire leaving her lips. He brought the tips of his fingers to the sensitive bud just at the beginning, sparking more from her before his tongue languidly traced to her entrance, delving between her folds along the way. A lengthy moan left her then, hands scrambling to find something to hold onto. When he withdrew his tongue, her gasps were shaking, and the king then pressed his lips to a thigh, nipping her. “You will continue to use my title this time, Aranel. Anything else will only serve to add punishment.” She swallowed again and quickly inclined her head, the flush expanding from her features to her shoulders and chest. “Y-Yes, my King.” Satisfied with her response, and with no small amount of wicked glee, the king delved between her folds once more, his tongue plunging within her entrance as if ravenous. Sara couldn’t withhold the small scream he’d pulled from her, the water sloshing as she squirmed.

Much like the night before, the strength in which he held her in place forbade her from going anywhere, and Thranduil kept his palm flat against her back, ensuring she took every swipe of his tongue. She was panting, writhing, nearly calling his name before she’d caught herself, her entire figure shivering. “Th- my King… Can I… can I come, please?” A moan broke free, weakened and desperate from the skill he’d used on her. Even her toes were beginning to curl. “No,” he murmured, then sank his teeth into her thigh. “Not until I give the order,  _ meleth-nin _ . You will take what I give and restrain yourself until I say otherwise.” 

“Ohh…” Her tone was hushed, her breaths shaking as much as she was, and a small cry became strangled in her throat. He already knew how close she was to breaking, her essence quivering around his tongue before he’d pulled away. “Y-Yes… Yes, my King…” There was a desperation in her voice that spoke volumes of the effort she was giving to not lose herself so soon, the sound brittle and cracking. Thranduil cooed softly, but his shoulders were shaking with dominant laughter, returning to his earlier position and delved his tongue within her while his fingers made work of rolling her sensitive nerves. 

Her moans echoed off the stone, a hand reaching back for him. He saw then how she craved touch, and confident she couldn’t lift herself, gave her the hand he’d rested on her back. Her fingers laced with his, squeezing tight in her attempt to hold herself off, just before he returned the squeeze. A sob left her, everything quivering as she forced herself to hold on. “M-My King… my King,  _ please _ … please, I can’t take it anym-more-” 

“Come for me.” He didn’t need to utter more than that before his tongue resumed where it had been, fingertips furiously massaging her clit and she screamed again, the sound reverberating throughout his chambers and what he knew echoed along his halls. When her release subsided, Thranduil stood, leaning over her and wiped her tears away. “ _ Le melin, Sara.  _ You were perfect,  _ meleth-nin,  _ always perfect.” Sara lifted her head, turning it in a way she could meet his lips, her figure shivering as she ran her fingers through his hair. “I love you,” she breathed, swallowing when she felt his shaft between her legs. “Did you want to…” He looked over her with unbridled want, running his touch along her side and squeezed her hip. 

“So willing to give yourself to me,” he murmured, grinning as he stroked her cheek. He helped her to straighten, but her back remained against his chest and she nodded, leaning against him. “Always,” her voice was no more than a breath on the air, as if just a timid breeze traveling to his ears. “Thranduil, I… I’m yours…” But Sara’s tone had become shy as his arms encircled her stomach, the king pressing his lips to her shoulder. She felt his length pressing against her. “I have been for longer than I can ever say. If… if you want to, then…” She felt him still, chewing her lip in worry that she said the wrong thing, but Thranduil had turned her to face him, lifting her and setting her at the edge of the pool. “You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he purred, stroking her cheek. Her slight burst of laughter was breathless, leaning into his touch. “I think I do,” she kissed his wrist. “Because you’re doing it to me.. Thranduil, I… I mean it, if… if you want to… to take me then-” But he cut her off then, reclaiming her kiss. “Aranel, you tempt me more than anything I’ve known in all my life, and of everything I’ve known, you,  _ meleth-nin _ , are certainly the very thing my heart has needed in longer than I can describe, but for now… let us just be together.” 

She nodded, but the princess was conflicted. Wanting him to feel release as well, to take care of him as he’d done for her, but remained unsure if he stopped it because elves equate sex to marriage and betrothals were supposed to last a year, or if he even wanted to be with her. “Do not think that I’m pushing you away, I can see your mind running circles around you.” Oh… Sara had momentarily forgotten how adept the elvenking was at reading her, or reading people in general. “Then… would you tell me why you won’t?” Even as she asked, knowing she needed an answer, the question left her shaking, the girl detesting confrontation. “There are a few reasons,” Thranduil kissed her head. “One of them being my wish to see you properly taken care of. Aranel, there is no rush, and I see you still possess reservations on intimacy, but you have nothing to fear. I won’t seek pleasure elsewhere,” his grin changed then, turning into something darker as he brought his lips to her ear. “And you’ve yet to see how far my patience can reach.” 

“Oh…” There was an excitement in the princess, though she still remained a touch shy, and the elvenking merely held her, helping her wash up and allowing his erection to abate, never once forcing the issue. Thranduil left tender kisses over her figure, and she returned them, taking the moment to help him as well, massaging his back as she washed over the impeccable skin before her. Neither one could take their eyes off the other, and the elvenking traced the glimmering marks on her back, silently admiring where her wings rested beneath the skin. As they finished, Sara meant to stand and wavered, her thighs shaking from the strength of her previous release. “I’m never gonna walk right ever again…” She huffed to herself, but the king laughed outright, pressing his lips against her wet hair as he helped her to dry off, then to dress. “Not inherently true,  _ meleth _ . Though it may last for some time.” 

“Oh!” His laughter grew, as did the flush on her features, but he tenderly embraced her, bringing the dress he’d chosen. The gown he’d returned with for her was set to match the season, of darkened sapphire with onyx trim, fastening at the neck and expertly covering her scars, though her shoulders were exposed, her glimmering marks on clear display. There was even a cloak to rest over her shoulders, the fabric light but blocked the winter chill. As she finished, she turned to see Thranduil dressing as well, then moved to help him. 

He’d opened his mouth to speak, to tell her she didn’t have to help with his robes, but she shook her head. “It’s only fair. You helped me, I’d like to help you too.” His features softened, and with his slacks already on, Sara helped with his tunic first, straightening the laces at his collarbone before retrieving his robes, a striking ice blue to match his eyes. “Do you always handle things with such tenderness?” The curiosity in the elvenking’s voice made the princess tilt her head, stepping from behind him to meet his gaze. “Not always,” she admitted, working to fasten the front of his robes. “But when it comes to those I love, I try to.” She’d finished, brushing over the material, the sight of him still taking her breath away. Always regal, his broad shoulders drawn back with his head high, it was one of the many things she loved about the elvenking. He brushed his fingers through her hair, which had begun to set with waves as it dried, and kissed her forehead. “Then I must have fortune’s favor to earn such compassion and love from you,  _ ithildin _ .” He was sweeter than she ever expected, leaving her at a loss for words, her face coloring again.

As he escorted her out, slowing his stride to walk alongside her, a guard approached, bowing to them. Sara noticed how the guard couldn’t look directly at her for long, his face coloring, tempting her to hide. How many heard her? Thranduil, however, carried himself with a confidence she could only dream of possessing, unaware of the satisfaction the elvenking carried, knowing his halls heard who was giving her immeasurable pleasure. “My lord, Mithrandir and the halfling have arrived, seeking your presence. It would appear they are carrying something on them and wish to see it in your hands.” Sara chewed her lip, aware that the very thing Bilbo would be giving the elvenking was the small chest with the remaining Lasgalen gems since she had already retrieved the necklace. Thranduil barely inclined his head, the guard stepping aside. Both were standing before the massive throne upon their arrival, with the wizard giving her a knowing smirk. She felt her face heat up before spotting Bilbo, offering him a small grin. “To what do I owe the visit, Mithrandir? What have you and the Master Baggins come to bestow upon me?” 

Bilbo cleared his throat, shuffling a bit with the small chest in his hands. It looked massive in the halfling’s hold, and she saw there was a bit of hesitation in his features. Thranduil, however, recognized the chest, lips parting slightly in awe. The rest of the gems. “We’ve come to bring you this, though there may be a problem.” Electric blue fell on both the wizard and the hobbit, quirking his eyebrow as he stepped closer. “What sort of problem would there be?” Bilbo handed the chest to the elvenking, who’d opened it briefly, finding the gems glittering merrily, but… no necklace. It was then the king shared a glance with the princess, eyes crinkling slightly in their own private joke as Sara bit her lip. “The, uh… the necklace, it… it’s gone missing.” Sara almost snorted, but saw how apologetic the hobbit was upon turning up what he assumed the elvenking would deem ‘empty-handed’, and Thranduil’s expression didn’t help. She broke, soft giggles escaping and bit her lip, wanting to say something, but the king set the chest aside, striding around the two. “A chest filled with gems, yet the necklace within cannot be traced. Tell me something, Master Baggins…” Bilbo was almost rigid with worry by then. “You and Aranel both escaped the mountain simultaneously, if I recall properly?” 

The hobbit’s bright eyes met her hazel then, noticing how she stifled a smile and relief immediately washed over him. “You  _ did  _ grab it,” he almost sounded deflated. “I saw you running, but-” Sara’s laughter grew then, and she hugged the halfling, spotting her king’s shoulders shaking. “I’m a little on the stubborn side,” she admitted softly, the embrace ending and gave the same to the wizard. “I believe it is more than just a little, princess,” Gandalf teased, and Thranduil’s smile grew, encountering a little of that stubbornness himself in recent events. When she scoffed playfully, the king’s grin softened. “Okay, maybe… maybe it  _ is  _ more than a little…” 

“Master Baggins, I would like to invite you and Mithrandir to stay for a feast in the upcoming days. A celebration to mark the return home, and to remember those who have fallen." For a moment, no one spoke, but Sara could plainly see the grief written over the hobbit’s features. It seemed likely that Bilbo would refuse the invitation, even politely, but he offered what he could of a smile and inclined his head. “I suppose a night or two can’t hurt. The only journey from here is to the Shire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so terribly sorry it's taken me so long to post this, and it wasn't even what I fully wanted, but I figured the end of the chapter was as good as any, and for the next, the feast of remembrance as well as maybe one or two guests that... well... Thranduil isn't pleased about their arrival. As for the update on my end, I think I have a game plan to get things where I need them to go. Thank you all once again for being so patient and kind with me <3 (There's an extreme probability of this chapter being edited along with several others)


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few unexpected guests arrive in the Greenwood, and Thranduil isn't too pleased about their arrival. With Bilbo grieving, Mithrandir accompanies him before the return to the Shire. Because of these... unappreciated appearances, the elvenking's jealousy spurns and smut ensues~

Thranduil had proclaimed the feast as the Feast of Remembrance, so that those attending may remember those they had lost and to cherish what, or who, remained. Bilbo and Gandalf, having accepted the invitation, seemed to be in somewhat downcast spirits, but with the chatter buzzing throughout the halls, there was a small hint of anticipation within them. The Elvenking, while welcoming guests to his halls, was also heavily involved with preparations for the council’s arrival, some even arriving to take part in the feast. Sara, on the other hand, busied herself with the snow berries and holly around the halls, not wanting to interfere with the king’s business. A small melody left her, and despite things being frozen all around the forest, she felt a sense of cheer. “There was word of a princess healing the woodland realm, though I scarcely believed it myself.” An unknown voice made her jump, and Sara whirled, clutching her chest, hazel eyes wide as she scrambled to see who’d snuck up on her. 

An elven male, seemingly no older than the age of twenty, but the princess knew that elves were so preserved, it was impossible to determine a proper age. “I…” 

“Forgive me, princess, I did not mean to cause a stir. I am called Helegnir, a member of Lord Thranduil’s council." Remembering propriety, Sara dusted off her hands, accepting Helegnir's offered one, then gave a curtsey after standing. "There's no harm done, Lord Helegnir. I'm Aranel, Princess of the Western Lands and a guest in His Majesty's halls. Are you attending the feast in a few days?" He inclined his head, a gleam in his pale eyes that suggested he wanted to speak on something, and the princess felt an awkward tension, almost certain it would be over her involvement with the king. “I will be, as well as meetings once the others arrive. There is much to discuss regarding the events of the battle.” The glimmer changed to a knowing one, and she could have sworn he was almost smirking at her, seeing the barest quirk of his lips. “Has your stay been welcoming in His Majesty’s halls?”  _ Here we go…  _ “It has. I grew up in a land similar to this, and His Majesty has been kind enough to offer me shelter after I was rescued from being hunted by orcs.”

“So the tale has been told. There is also word that something about the magic within your blood cloaks this kingdom from the darkness threatening to consume it.” At his remark, she couldn’t help the small, steadying breath, answering honestly. “I scarcely understand it myself, my lord, as I’m sure the tales will also tell of the events leading to my arrival into this earth.” Her response seemed to make him falter, the lord even misstepping once. His lips parted to speak, a challenge in his gaze. “Aranel, there you are. I see you’ve met Lord Helegnir.” Thranduil had approached, silencing the council member and as he took her hand, the lord’s keen stare hovered on them, watching the elvenking press his lips to her knuckles. “I have,” she replied, bowing her head with another curtsey. “I was just bringing forth new snow blooms and holly for the feast in a few days.” Eyes of pale ice rested on her with fond affection, but the expression hardened when Thranduil looked over Helegnir. There was suspicion in the king’s stare, she knew that look from the moment she’d first met him, felt his protectiveness over her roll over his frame in waves. 

“You’ve done more than enough,  _ ithildin _ , you should have a moment to rest.” He’d used the pet name for her in front of a council member, and though her heart skipped, she almost felt for sure he’d try to keep their involvement a secret, but Thranduil saw no need. Sara bowed her head once more, feeling the subtle shift, the unspoken dismissal in his tone. “I will excuse myself to the library for now.” The elvenking pressed his lips to her forehead, the familiar tenderness returning to his gaze, and she knew then his dismissal was to spare her any further interrogation. “I will meet with you again soon,  _ meleth-nin _ .” Even Helegnir’s eyes had widened at the fond use of ‘my love’ being displayed so openly before others, but as Sara left, she briefly squeezed Thranduil’s fingers affectionately, allowing the two a moment alone. “So the rumors reaching my ears in only days have seen truth,” the lord quirked his eyebrow, meeting eyes of steel. “You possess an affection for the guest in your halls.” Thranduil scoffed, leading Helegnir further away from the princess. “It is more than simple affection,  _ mellon _ . There is more I wish to speak with you and the others on than just the details of the battle past.”

Helegnir tilted his head, but his grin grew, already knowing what the elvenking wished to speak of. “You want to file an exception, I gather?  _ Aran nin _ , you are under no obligations to adhere to any resolute decision. Your will is your own, as it has always been. She has not resided within your halls long, though matters of the heart pay no consequence in essence of time.” Even Thranduil couldn’t prevent the wistful smile spreading over his features, his lungs aching simultaneously upon thinking of the princess. “Even so, I would see to it that our union is made.” As the two continued to speak of how the elvenking wished to marry Sara, the princess herself remained unable to properly focus in the library, delving through tome after tome to distract her thoughts, poring over maps to determine where her best friend had come through, then tracing the locations between where her brother had come through and where she’d been discovered. Not all the space between the two were of ill intent. Lorien lay on the map, Rivendell miles to the North, but there was also Isengard and the gates of Moria. 

Her mind instantly delved to what she’d previously read, remembering what she’d learned in her own world of Middle Earth. Dol Guldur and Isengard were important locations for dark conjurings, where Sauron’s forces had confined themselves. Sauron, the orcs…  _ Saruman _ . She swallowed thickly. The time currently stood that Saruman was still on their side, but she had suspicions that the white wizard had become corrupted some time ago. The longer she pored over the maps, the more her mind came up with one impossibility after another, she hadn’t noticed Gandalf’s entrance, the grey wizard startling her when she heard the familiar hissing burn of a smoked pipe. “Gandalf! If it isn't you, it’s Thranduil! Make some noise next time!” The elderly wizard laughed, poring over the maps with her. “I’ve made plenty of noise thus far, princess, though your mind was a bit too preoccupied to give it notice. What is this you pore over?” Sara explained, knowing Gandalf already had his suspicions and the two both aware that Sauron was returning. “I don’t think he was ever really gone, Gandalf… My memories, they… they reach at least ten years back. How long has this peace reigned over Middle Earth?” 

“Four hundred years, my lady. Though in my experience, things are hardly ever as they seem.” 

“Okay, then… then maybe you could help me. Here is where I was found, but I originated in Dol Guldur after the orcs took me. My brother was found in the forests of Harlindon, but my friend-” 

“Ereala?” Sara nodded, but her finger traced around the entire map. “I have no idea where she came through. I just-” Gandalf pat her shoulder, squeezing briefly. “Allow me to look into the matter. I believe you have a feast to attend in a few days? It would do no good to dwell on matters that cannot yet be answered.” He was right. Sara knew he was, but even his reassurance on investigating did little to sway her growing panic. Something was converging, and more than likely at the center of wherever she, her friend, and her brother had come through. Most likely at Isengard is where her mind continued to linger. “I… thank you, Gandalf, though I do not think I can let this sit idly in my head.” 

“Nor would I expect you to. Do not worry, I shall remain in contact about whatever I discover.” She bit her lip, a heavy sigh escaping before she nodded. “Thank you. I… How is Bilbo? I haven’t had much of a chance to speak with him since the two of you arrived.” 

The wizard took another puff of his pipe, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Grieving, as to be expected. The dwarves, namely Thorin, had become like family to him. And before you speak ill of the former ‘King Under the Mountain’, please know that he wasn’t so cruel as you’d met.” Sara’s eyebrows knit together, her expression conflicted and she unconsciously rubbed under her eye. “I understand, I had only met him one other time, when King Thranduil had them, but… despite his crass behavior, I will not speak ill of the dead. I think I would like to spend some time with my Halfling friend.” A smile grew over Gandalf’s features and he inclined his head as she waved, taking off to find her friend. When she found him, the hobbit was shuffling through the courtyard, interacting with the wildlife as though he was lost in thought. “It’s not going to sprout another head if you look at it differently,” she playfully teased, a twinge of guilt rising as he visibly startled from her voice. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you…” Bilbo grinned, but it was half-hearted, and she saw the sadness still rising within him. “Did you want some company?” 

“I would like that, very much actually. I wouldn’t be keeping you from King Thranduil’s attentions, would I?” She laughed softly and shook her head.

“No, he’s currently speaking to a member of his council. I think we have some time. I don’t think he would mind us speaking as it is… how are you?” She asked in a way that he would know that she was aware of his grieving, but wondering how he was managing. She imagined not very well. The hobbit tried to smile, tried to give her some sort of assurance that there was no need to worry, but the gesture faltered, and she, on instinct, embraced him to comfort his troubles. “It’s just… too surreal,” he finally admitted once they’d straightened. “I almost expect Thorin to burst through a set of doors and demand I be the burglar I was hired as.” Sara understood how that felt- losing someone you never thought would go in such a manner always hit a tender spot. She thought for sure her dad was dead, and in her world, he truly had been, but in Middle Earth, he was alive and well. And elven. Elven royalty at that. “If we’d met years sooner, I’d tell you I know the feeling. Imagine my surprise when I find out the person I thought was dead really wasn’t,” she offered sheepishly, their embrace ending. Seeing the confusion in his eyes, she elaborated. “My father… but… Bilbo, what of the others in the company? What will they do?”

There seemed to be a world of which he wanted to speak of, but the hobbit resided with telling the princess of the remaining dwarves of the company of Thorin Oakenshield. “They insist on exploring the wonders of Middle Earth; the wildlands and whatever may call them outward. I’ve even made clear they’re always welcome in Bag-End.” Sara grinned, nodding along. “From the sounds of it, you’ve made some great friends.” The two drifted through the courtyard at an idle pace, mostly content to enjoy the comfortable silence between them, briefly speaking of their homes and what they missed most. For Bilbo, it was his books, his garden, and his armchair, though the more he thought on it, the lonelier it felt. For the princess, the thing she missed most… she honestly couldn’t think of anything she’d miss from her world, but there was also the memory of her mother. While she got along best with her father, her mother had done more than taken care of her, and despite not getting along earlier in life, she knew the woman was only looking out for her. After a time, both were beginning to get hungry, taking the moment to get themselves something to eat, though Sara was unsure how much she could handle with her growing nerves. She had not only the feast on her mind, but the council arriving.

* * *

The few days before the feast were ones that kept the princess on her toes, as it seemed no matter where she turned, that council member, Helegnir, was always close by, seemingly minding his own business, but her mind wandered. The elven lord even stepped closer whenever Thranduil was with her. Probably to determine the rumors or if she was worthy enough to be with him, those were the most common thoughts in her mind. Most times, however, the elvenking had business to attend to, and during those times, Sara was often left to be by herself, if she wasn’t spending time with Bilbo or Gandalf. She missed the king terribly, however, knowing he had more on his plate than most would dare think of yet wishing she could take away his stress, she often went to sleep in her own chambers, clinging to a pillow during those fitful nights. 

The night before the feast was due to begin, Sara had resigned herself to another night alone, reading quietly to abate the wistful sigh threatening to rise from missing him. He was a king, one who’d experienced loss and betrayal like no other, the last thing he needed was additional stress over her. And Thranduil often worked long into the night as well, making preparations for not just the feast, but the ever repetitive council’s arrival. A few hours had passed and she was finally asleep, features relaxed and remaining unhaunted from nightmares for a blissful reprieve when the elvenking entered her chambers. She hadn’t even bothered to tuck herself in, the book resting face down on her stomach, her onyx waves obscuring her face from view. “ _ Meleth-nin… _ ” Leaning over her, he brushed the hair from her delicate features, nearly losing his breath as those hazel eyes sleepily opened to meet his startling blue. “Thranduil? Is… is everything okay?” He held the side of her face, a gesture she turned toward with a soft hum, fingers twitching to reach for him. “Everything is fine,  _ meleth e-guilen _ , there is no need to trouble yourself.” 

A soft whine left her and she gave into selfish desire, fingers twisting in his robes and tugged him closer. He took the place beside her, turning her in a way her back was to his chest. “You know I’ll always worry about you,” she spoke softly, lacing her fingers with his. “I want to help somehow.” With that, she moved to face him, blinking sleepily before she nuzzled against his neck, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Do you have enough time to stay for awhile?” Thranduil hummed, tilting her chin up to bring their lips together. “I believe I do,” he grinned teasingly. “The rest of the night, in fact. I trust these past few days haven’t been unkind toward you,  _ meleth _ . I know Helegnir can be… invasive.” Sara could have huffed- that was the understatement of a lifetime, but she knew he was only trying to help. “He’s just making sure I’m good enough for you,” she replied gently, stroking his cheek. “What he or anyone thinks is of no consequence,  _ meleth-nin _ . You are what matters, not their opinions, and I’ve gone far too long without knowing the joy you’ve so readily bestowed upon me.”

It was one time out of many that the Elvenking had stolen the words from her lips, and she couldn’t stop the sleepy smile from growing into one of pure love and affection, curling closer to him as his embrace became tighter. “I love you,” she breathed, leaving a tender press of her lips against his collarbone. “ _ Le melin, Sara, _ ” Thranduil readily returned her love, still leaving the princess in complete awe, and as he settled down beside her, the two were asleep together in a matter of moments. 

* * *

While Sara was overjoyed to wake up next to Thranduil the following morning, when the seamstress arrived, she was less than thrilled. Still, it was elven custom, and she had to admit that she usually felt beautiful upon seeing the finished product. The Elvenking was curious as to how she would be presented, with the influx of guests coming, he knew he would need to be there to greet several, leaving him no choice but to be surprised. With a peck against her lips, and a lingering kiss on her forehead, he departed, already hearing the guards approach about more visitors. At once, the seamstress guided Sara to the cushioned pedestal, directly in front of a full length mirror and began to unravel a fabric the shade of stars at night. White as snow and ethereal, the princess only hoped she could keep it clean, as she was usually terrible at keeping white as pristine as it was. Heavier than silk, the fabric was familiar in how it fell over her like running water, cascading over curves that she felt made her stick out like a sore thumb. No elven woman she ever saw had hips like she did, nor any of her other assets. Sara made a face in the mirror.

“None of that,  _ hiril nin _ ,” the woman chided gently. “You are lovely in your differences to the other  _ elleth _ , and I will not hear you speak so derisively about yourself.” The faerie pouted slightly, but her sigh was heavy. “All right, all right… still, I don’t think I’ve ever kept white clean for long. I’m always out in the dirt at some point.” With a short chuckle, the fabric was pinned and cut, the woman’s hands moving so fast that she could barely keep up. “You’ve done so much more than you’ll give yourself credit for, and you’re worried about a little soil on your gown?” Sara scoffed gently then. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t carry the grace or the ability to repel earth from my clothes like King Thranduil does.” More laughter was shared with the elven seamstress, full and hearty, lifting the princess’s spirits. “ _ Hiril nin _ , I cannot tell you the stains His Majesty used to get when he was just a prince. Always tumbling in the dirt with some animal he sought to make a friend out of before he put himself through training.” 

It was hard to believe Thranduil ever got so much as a piece of mud anywhere on himself, but hearing the seamstress talk so naturally about it, she couldn’t stifle her giggles. “I would have loved to have seen that.” Though the seamstress possessed adept skill working with her dress, it had still taken hours until it was finished and ready, flowing over her as much as her other gowns had, but this one seemed to glitter, as if the intent was to make her appear as a walking star. Her obsidian waves were artistically twisted in a way that was almost a crown itself, with snow blossoms weaved in intricately. Thankfully, as it must have been common knowledge, the dress was fastened at the neck, covering her collarbones and chest in entirety and concealing her scars from view. One of the maids had entered, bringing small cups and tubs filled with various cosmetics… that was a human custom, not elven… “Uhm… why the makeup?” She gave the princess a bright smile, setting the things down to curtsey. “It is something new,  _ hiril nin _ , and nothing will be garish or gaudy!” Sara’s lips pursed together, unsure, but curiosity got the better of her and she began to look over the various little pots. 

Most of them were as natural as her skin, the only things colored differently were a small black one, filled with a kohl and a brush, which she assumed was eyeliner, and the other a shimmering pearl. The maid had obviously had experience with makeup and barely dotted Sara’s eyes with the kohl, intensifying her hazel orbs before moving to the pearlescent powder, brushing it in light strokes across her cheeks and neck. When she was finished, the princess glanced in the mirror and believed, at first, that she was seeing an entirely new person. “That… that’s  _ me _ ?” Her tone was hushed, filled with awe, and for a rare moment, she thought she was actually… beautiful. “Is it acceptable, princess?” Sara looked to the maid and began to smile, her eyes stinging with touched tears. “It’s wonderful, thank you.” Just as the two began toward the door, after the seamstress had departed, they could hear various shouts of joy and celebration. The feast was in full swing already. The faerie inhaled shakily and did her best to remain confident. “Here we go…” 

She drifted along the paths and toward the sounds of the party, spotting Gandalf speaking with a few other elves, then briefly, Bilbo had wandered away. No one else spotted the halfling, but she did, tilting her head curiously as to where he was going. Guests of all sorts had attended- including humans and other elves, and she caught sight of Thranduil speaking with Helegnir, his expression severe. Whatever they were discussing, she knew it was serious.  _ Probably better wait until they’re done talking _ … Taking another breath to steady herself, Sara weaved around various people, inclining her head and politely smiling before one offered her a chalice of wine. “Oh, thank you,” she was careful not to spill anything on her white gown, determined to keep the thing clean for once in her life. As she sipped, she continued to drift around everyone else, wanting to speak with a familiar face but oddly felt out of place, and continued to wander until she heard shouts of rejoicing. Who… the voices sounded familiar, and she padded lightly toward the familiarity, spotting Bilbo with- “Princess?” Sara almost dropped her cup, mouth falling open unceremoniously. “Bofur?! Bofur, it’s really you!” 

Hurriedly, she downed her drink, setting the cup aside and almost bolted to the dwarf. She barreled into him, her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you would have gone to another dwarven land.” His embrace was just as welcoming before he released her, leaning back to get a better look at her. “Ah, after the battle, the Lonely Mountain didn’t exactly have its appeal as much as the adventure itself did, so the lads and I are going on another adventure, just to see the world.” Her eyebrows knit together, tilting her head. “Which others?” Bofur grinned, nodding in another direction. “Aye lads! Another familiar face has blessed us with her presence!” She turned to where he’d started to look, then saw Balin, Bombur, and Dwalin, the elderly dwarf grinning upon spotting her. “Balin! Oh, it’s wonderful to see you!” She hugged him too, the dwarves surrounding her, their expressions much more trusting than they had been upon their first meeting. 

What she didn’t see, however, was that the instant Thranduil had spotted her, she took his breath away, appearing to him as a literal embodiment of the stars and moon itself and cut the conversation off between him and Helegnir. It was better in that instance, as the elven lord on his council had already had too much drink and persisted in his questions of the princess. The elvenking had long since left the lord to more wine, weaving through guests in order to approach his princess, but stilled the moment he heard her happy cry. Who was she- pale blue lit with angered jealousy, the sensation churning his stomach upon her embrace of a dwarf. Not just any dwarf, but one of those that had been captured along with Thorin Oakenshield. There were others of the company in attendance, and she greeted them the same, an open embrace and a bright, happy smile. Thranduil noticed the eyes of two lingering a bit too long, watched how her cheeks colored when one bowed to her, almost blinding him with envy. 

It was Dwalin that had bowed to her, and the gesture seemed so unlike the hardened warrior that Sara couldn’t prevent the color rising against her features. “Master Dwalin, there’s no need to bow to me…” 

“Isn’t there? You  _ are  _ a princess, and last we met, things were not so joyful as they are tonight. Care to share a drink?” She nodded, unaware of the elvenking some distance behind her, watching with barely contained frustration and proceeded to follow her and the dwarven company surrounding her. She seemed at ease with them, and they held her hostage not so long ago… what was she thinking? He caught Mithrandir’s eye, the wizard almost smirking and frustrating him further. By then, he was stalking toward the princess, finding her sipping another drink and giggling at something one of the dwarves had said. “Dwarves boldly enter my realm and partake in my feast?” They froze for a moment, and Sara’s hazel met Thranduil’s pale blue, finding his eyes almost white in anger. He’d taken another step forward and she stood between him and the dwarves, her hand raised defensively. “My King, no. They mean no harm- they’re the ones who kept me as safe as they could when Thorin was sickened by the gold.” 

He saw she was nervous, how her eyes pleaded for him to stay his hand, but the protectiveness in her, the way she was so ready to defy him… something sparked in the elvenking and he tilted his head curiously. “Then you wish for them to remain as guests,  _ meleth-nin _ ?” Sara swallowed thickly and nodded, her fingers trembling as she lowered her hand. “I do… please, my King, they’re good people.” His jaw flexed subtly, then a heavy sigh left him and he gestured to the rest of the party. “Then they remain as guests, but  _ ithildin,  _ a word, if you would.” She bit her lip, briefly turning her eyes to the dwarves and nodded, setting her drink aside in favor of accompanying the king. Thranduil didn’t speak, but kept his pace where she could walk alongside him, leading her away from the party. Dread grew in her stomach, fearing… well, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t believe it was anything good. Finally, he’d led her far enough that the party was only a whisper behind them, into a dark room and shut the door behind him, hearing the latch click and lock them in. “Th-thranduil?”

Immediately after a candle had been lit, the elvenking’s lips were on hers so fast, she didn’t have time to adjust to the light before he had taken her in his arms, pushing her against the wall. Her cry of surprise was muffled, sounding more akin to one of desire as his hands drifted over her hips, his fingers digging in. Thranduil broke the kiss, and she saw his gaze had darkened, his chest heaving as much as hers. “ _ Meleth-nin,  _ do you remember what I spoke of after you were wounded in the battle?” She searched his features, as if willing her to remember, then… “You’re jealous?  _ Guren _ , there’s no need-” But his lips had fiercely reclaimed her own, silencing her argument, nipping her to allow his tongue entrance into her mouth. Already, she could feel her thighs shivering, her figure heating to heights that made her gown almost unbearable to stay in and twisted her fingers in his robes. He swallowed every moan he pulled from her, his own hands trailing from her hips to everywhere he could reach, then began inching up the skirts of her gown. 

“ _ Le melin, Sara, _ ” Thranduil’s tone had lowered in pitch, murmuring against her lips as he continued to push up the skirts, sighing blissfully upon feeling the skin of her legs. Her breath caught, clutching his broad shoulders, meeting his hooded stare with one of her own. “And I love you, Thranduil… Are we…?” Her tone had become small, submissive, and the elvenking chuckled, fingertips skimming the skin of her thighs. “I will admit to being tempted, but I gave you my word,  _ meleth _ .” Her breath remained hitched, catching, unable to think with his touch along her legs, drifting toward the center of her and grazed her, pulling a whimper from her swollen lips. Just as she began to inch her thighs apart, Thranduil lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist and brought her to something cushioned- a sofa. He lay over her, watching the flush spread from her face to her shoulders, knowing it had reached her chest and smirked. “I’m afraid you won’t be attending the feast for the rest of the night,  _ meleth _ .” His grin turned wicked, hands returning to her thighs and brushing over her core. Already, she was filled with desire for him, he could feel the way her smallclothes grew damp from his touch. 

A small whimper escaped, the princess clutching the cushions beneath her, reaching for him with her other hand. Her fingers drifted through his hair, holding his cheek, and the elvenking placed a tender kiss on her wrist. “I want to hear you tonight, Sara, so much so that you’ll forget your own name.” He unhooked her legs from his waist, but kept her thighs apart, looking over her with nothing less than pure carnal hunger. He even set his crown aside, bringing his head between her legs and began to kiss along her calves. “Shivering already, darling? Eager tonight, aren’t you?” 

“Th-Thranduil… please…” Another lingering press of his lips against her calf and he hummed. “Patience,  _ meleth e-guilen _ , you will find relief, but it will be on my terms.”  _ Oh fuck… he really is jealous. I didn’t even-  _ As if sensing her mind had drifted, Thranduil nipped the inside of her knee, sinking his teeth hard enough to make her yelp. “Do I have your attention,  _ meleth _ ?” Sara whimpered and nodded, the movement quick and held tight to the cushions beneath her. “Good girl, don’t let your mind wander, hm?” 

“Y-Yes, my King…” 

Satisfied he had her full attention, the elvenking allowed his hands to roam her thighs, coaxing them apart and together again, confusing the princess beneath him. At least until his thumbs had hooked into the line of her smallclothes, easing them from her hips, down her thighs and from her legs, tossing them to the floor. Though she rubbed her thighs together shyly, Thranduil merely placed his hands upon her knees and she opened them once again, his pale gaze darkening with hunger despite her still being uncertain of herself. “ _ Meleth-nin _ , you continue to leave me enchanted…” Even his tone matched his eyes, heavily laced with lust as he lingered on her center, glimmering even with only the one candle to light the room. His fingers drifted toward her petals, tracing over them and felt her juices had dampened her thighs. Sara jolted briefly, her breath catching as she bit her lip. As he traced over her sensitive nerves, he drew a soft whine from her, and she was already squirming with anticipation. 

Seeing her so ready for him, Thranduil couldn’t stifle the rumbling chuckle in his chest, applying more pressure as his lips went to her thighs, trailing his tongue in swirls toward her center. Her sighs were soft, her delicate fingers threading through his hair as she watched him. He didn’t resist the silkiness of her skin, which had tempted him to leave his mark, much like he had her neck, something Helegnir seemed only too amused to point out, and sank his teeth into her inner thigh, almost brushing her center. Sucking harshly at the skin, the cry of his name only spurned him further, desire rippling down his spine and tightening his stomach. She made it almost impossible to keep his word, she was maddening in the most sinful of ways. For Sara, on the other hand, she wanted nothing more than to please him, in whatever way she could, her true submissive nature rearing its head with each movement against her. “Thranduil…” She ached for him, her core shivering and desperate for his touch, but the elvenking wouldn’t give into her plea so soon, even if she did sound utterly delectable from the whine alone. 

Instead, he mimicked what he’d done to her inner thigh to the other one, the marks matching and applied more pressure to her pearl, driving the princess to arch her back, spreading further for him. “ _ Gods… _ ” She was panting, her chest heaving and as her fingers uncurled from the cushion, intent to untie the gown from her neck, Thranduil took her wrist as he lifted his head. “No,” the command was stern, the affection still present, but his eyes were as commanding as his voice. “Leave it on, Sara.” 

“But… but it’s so hot and I can’t-  _ Hahhh! _ ” He’d barely eased a finger in her, close to her barrier and curled it within, stroking what he could reach and immediately silenced her protest. She wanted to tell him the dress was stifling, that she couldn’t breathe, but his dominance won out, causing her to shiver with want. “Will you leave it if I release that tender wrist?” She inclined her head quickly, a whimper sticking in her throat. “Y-Yes, my King.” 

“If you attempt to do it again,  _ meleth-nin _ , I will not hesitate to bind you.” 

For a moment, he’d thought he’d been too forceful with the warning, but her center shivered around his finger, a soft moan escaping those tempting lips. She  _ liked  _ when he got that way then? It was apparent, at least in that instance, and Thranduil released her wrist, ducking his head once more. She was almost unbearably tight, just around his finger, and his tongue flicked against her sensitive nerves. Sara cried out as he groaned upon tasting the honey she offered him, the elvenking testing his boundaries and easing in a second finger, deep enough to stroke the barrier within her. “Th-Thranduil…” Sara felt her thighs shivering, her core aching despite his fingers within her. She wanted  _ more _ , yet the elvenking was more apt to bring plea after plea from her swollen lips. No matter how she squirmed, he kept her from rolling her hips for any sort of relief, and she could have sworn he was smirking the entire time. Slowly, Thranduil thrusted his fingers within her, taking her pearl into his mouth and running his tongue in circles around it, pulling louder cries from her. He wanted her past the point of exhaustion, and knowing how swiftly she often found her pleasure, he was intent to give her more than she could handle.

His tongue moved faster, as did his fingers, careful not to tear her purity away so soon, and Sara thought for sure he was working to drive her insane. “M-My King… Thranduil, I… I’m gonna-” He didn’t let up, but sucked her nerves harshly and sent her spiraling, screaming as her core clenched tight around his fingers, covering him in her juices. Her entire being was tense and quivering simultaneously, white lightning ripping through her veins and she lost her surroundings, temporarily blinded from the force of her release. Thranduil groaned as he took her in, unable to stifle his growing need to have her, to claim her as his and his alone. He slowed his ministrations, but didn’t stop completely, enough for her to regain the air in her lungs when he lifted his head. “ _ Ithildin _ , the heavens weep with envy for the radiance you exude, and the manner in which you give yourself to me…” He sighed, wistfully so, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. “There is no berry sweeter, nor any wine more intoxicating.  _ Le melin _ , Sara.” At first, she thought he’d finished, but upon trying to sit, affection shining in her hazel orbs, Thranduil brought her to lay back once more. “We’re not finished, not until I say otherwise.” 

Sara swallowed, a whimper sticking in her throat as her breaths caught. “Thranduil, I… I love you.” His hum of approval sounded in his chest, taking her trembling hand as she reached for him and leaving a lingering press of his lips to her wrist. “Tonight,  _ meleth-nin _ , release will be the only thing you know, my name the only thing to leave those delectable lips, and you will remain here for the night.”  _ Oh fuck… _ The sound that left her was desperate as it was needy, but her eyes reflected a stunned nature, causing his wicked grin to widen. Did he really intend to go the entire night? What about his release? “I can see where your mind wanders, Aranel, and you would not be mistaken in the knowledge that you will be here as long as I say. I do hope you’ve had enough rest before now.” The flush remained in her features, having long since spread to her neck and shoulders, but he could see there was something on her mind, already aware of her turmoil. “I will find my pleasure in creating yours,  _ meleth _ , you do not need to stress over that.” Conflict rose in her gaze and she shook her head, reaching to pull him up to her. 

“That… that’s not right,” she insisted, eyebrows knit together. “You’ve given me more than my share, I want to do the same for you.” Thranduil closed his eyes, a groan stuck in his chest as their foreheads pressed together. She was making it impossible to contain himself. “ _ Ithildin _ …” But Sara’s head had moved, bringing her swollen lips to his neck after tenderly brushing his hair to one shoulder, pushing the collar away from the skin. Instinctively, the elvenking gripped her hip, tilting his head to give her more room. A low, rumbling laugh left him, growling when she nipped over his pulse. “Emphatic little faerie, aren’t you?” She hummed in acknowledgement, her lips lingering when she sucked at the skin. His grip tightened against her hip, drawing forth a small whine from her, the sound so utterly maddening that Thranduil had taken her wrists and pinned her beneath him. Her eyes were hooded as his were, and Sara felt an ache in her core that she needed him to fill. “Thranduil, please…” 

“In time,  _ meleth _ , but first… I truly do not think you’re aware of the situation you’re in.”

Confusion knit her brow together again, but the expression dissipated into one of absolute lust, her wrists pinned above her head as the elvenking’s free hand had gone back to her center, finding her juices had spread. She was almost dripping for him, and could feel it was more than her thighs trembling for him, but his pale blue stare was lingering on her hazel, to be sure him pinning her wasn’t scaring her in any sense. To his delight, there was no trace of fear nor panic. In fact, the gleam in her eyes was one of excitement. She even spread herself a little more, her leg hanging over the edge of the sofa before wrapping it around his waist. Seeing her so wantonly insatiable for him brought another growl to resonate in his chest, and Thranduil pressed against her pearl, massaging over it in a brisk movement. Her head fell back, moaning for him as her hips rose to meet his touch.

To Sara, she relished in the control he took over her, bending her to his whims and she gave him complete compliance, only taking over when she felt he needed his own pleasure. She wondered though, just what kind of desires he possessed, what he truly wanted to do, but even as the thought drifted through her mind, his touch eliminated the capacity for thought, easing a finger within her again, unrelenting against her. Her wrists twisted in his hold, the king’s hands large enough to keep her confined with one alone, and no matter how she arched or squirmed, he persisted, bringing forth another release. “I… I… Thranduil, I’m gonna-” 

“Come for me, princess.” The only sound to fill the room then was the scream of his name from her lips, her figure rigid, straining upward, and the elvenking prolonged her sweet agony with a mere flick of his wrist. Sara had never come so hard in her life, considerably much more sensitive with it being her second, but the dark laughter that sounded after she’d quieted told her he wasn’t done. Her whimpers were soft amidst her ragged breaths, sucking in her lower lip before chewing it with both anticipation and nervousness. 

Thranduil brought his fingers to his lips, gliding his tongue purposely over the digits she’d soaked from her release and hummed appreciatively. “I will never tire of your taste,  _ meleth-nin _ , you’ve addicted me to the delights you offer.” Before Sara could so much as utter a syllable, he was lowering himself between her thighs once again, but this time, held her legs apart in a bruising grip, one that forbade her from squirming away. As tight as his hold had been, she drew in a sharp breath, yelping the instant his tongue darted across her sensitive nerves. “Thranduil!” She jerked on instinct, the sensation almost too much against her tender core, and whine after whine fell from her lips upon realizing he wouldn’t give her so much as a modicum of reprieve. The more she attempted to squirm, the tighter his hold became, and she already felt the indentations of fresh bruises, the elvenking marking his claim. Whether it was the love the two felt for one another or her exhaustion, Sara felt for sure his tongue was possessed, flicking against her pearl rapid enough to almost vibrate. “Ohhh… Oh  _ Gods!  _ Thranduil, I… I can’t-” 

But before she could continue, a release took hold and shuddered through her as an earthquake would a small town, wracking through with the intent to destroy. It didn’t stop- her orgasm was unending in that moment, bringing tears to her eyes, her cries of his name breaking as she began to shake. “Th-Th-Thranduil…” A sob ripped through her, the sound enough to slow the elvenking, but he refused to abate his torture of relentless pleasure against her. Her fourth orgasm was back to back with her third, her fingers tearing into the cushions beneath her, shredding the fabric. Finally, upon hearing the sound of cloth ripping, pale blue orbs, insatiably dark with need, met her weary hazel. “Oh, my love,” he murmured, kissing her thigh. His voice had dropped in pitch, but there was a sense of compassion in his words. Sara’s breaths caught between sobs, shaking worse than she ever had in her life. “Catch your breath, darling. It’s all right.” He raised himself, bringing his lips to hers and his tongue slipped between her lips, affectionately meeting her own. She could taste herself on him, and a small whimper stuck in her chest. “I… I-I love you,” she breathed against the kiss. 

“L-Let me… let me take care of you too, please?” He’d begun to help her sit, untying the back of her gown and freed her flush chest from its confines, baring her breasts, the inner line glistening from the exertion. Thranduil held her face, kissing over her features with tenderness as he thought about her plea. She tested his resolve- he wanted to take her, to stretch and fill her without end, but he also wanted to keep to tradition, to make the consummation after the betrothal rituals had been observed. A thought occurred to him then- he could still bring unending bliss to her and still give her the permission to pleasure him. Thranduil’s visage broke into a wicked smile, rubbing his nose against hers. “Very well,  _ meleth-nin _ , but I will still be inflicting your blissful agony.” Confusion knit her brow together, her breaths almost calmed. “Wh-what-” she cleared her throat from its rasping state. “How do we…?” A chuckle rumbled in his chest and he sat beside her, lifting her in a way that he could peel her gown from her figure without tearing it, though it clung to her from her perspiration. 

She was bare before him, and as he looked over her hungrily, he felt his cock twitch and throb, aching with the need to have her. “It will be quite simple, once we’re both free of our garments. I think, however, that I’m a bit overdressed. Wouldn’t you agree?” One of her legs was on either side of him, straddling his lap and she bit her lip, her heart spiking. “I… I think so too, my King, but…” 

“I have a need for that divine mouth,  _ meleth _ , to feel your throat stretching to accommodate me. Would you be a good girl and undress your king, then?” Sara swallowed audibly, but nodded, her fingers shaking as she sought to unclasp his robes, starting with his brooch. “I need to hear you say it, Aranel.” 

“Y-Yes, my King.” As she worked to remove the garments from his broad, perfect frame, Thranduil’s fingers had begun tracing over her hips and thighs, drawing gooseflesh to rise against her. She faltered, more so when his fingertips found her glistening petals, and a whimper left her as she jerked. “F-Fuck…” A shudder of overstimulated desire rippled down her spine, and for a moment, her head fell against his shoulder. Could she really take any more orgasms?

“ _ Meleth-nin _ .” Sara swallowed, lifting her gaze to meet his, finding his sapphire stare matched his tone- tender, yet commanding. She pushed the robes from his shoulders, finding his tunic lay beneath and worked to unlace the strings from the collar, taking her time to run her fingers over the immaculate muscle beneath. “You’re perfect,” she breathed, searching his hooded eyes. Her own, though exhausted, matched to a degree she would give him anything he asked of her. Thranduil gently held her chin, bringing her to meet his kiss. “I wasn’t aware I’d become a mirror, princess.” An affectionate tease, the two viewing one another as their own perfection, yet the knowledge of it did nothing to deter the darkened shade of roses that bloomed over her features, her fingertips untucking his tunic as their foreheads rested together. “I would argue, but I know I’d be in for much worse if I did,” her reply was just as tender, pushing his tunic from the exceptional contours of his abdomen and chest. The elvenking shifted, helping her remove it from him entirely, and Sara’s mouth ran dry. No matter how many times she had seen or would continue to see him undressed before her, he always took her breath away. 

His glamour remained intact, but she knew of the scars he bore, some of them spreading to his shoulder and torso, but she brought her head down to kiss over where they lay. Her lips lingered over his collarbone, and his touch had changed for a moment, cradling the back of her head with a deep, contented sigh. She could feel his erection through his slacks, her slender fingers gliding over it with barely-there caresses and he hissed, coaxing her to raise her head. When she did, she noticed his lustful gaze had lingered on the scars over her chest, and though she knew he loved her, she remained insecure. Thranduil’s expression was tender despite his hunger for her, and his hands began to skim along her back, persuading her to bring herself as close as possible, allowing his lips to roam over the marks and lingered there. “They still trouble you.” It wasn’t a question; he was more than aware of her insecurities and self-loathing, and as she worked to untie his slacks, she nodded. “Would you be more at ease if a concealment charm lay over them?” 

She was confused at first, her movements slowing against the hem of his pants when his fingertips brushed over her scars. There was a small glow in Thranduil’s eyes then, neither of them looking away from the other and she felt tendrils tingling and flicking against the marks. Sara broke eye contact first, looking over where his fingers danced and watched as her scars disappeared entirely from view, as if she’d never been injured to start with. She drew in a sharp, catching breath, hazel eyes filling with tears of wonder as they shot back to his darkened electric blue, the glow fading. “Thranduil…?” 

“I am sharing my glamour with you,  _ meleth e-guilen _ , until you feel comfortable enough to know they do not flaw your beauty in any manner, or until you become more adept at harnessing your own gifts in concealment.” Anything she might have said in response was lost on her tongue, the faerie taking his face in her hands and left deep kisses over his features, lingering on his lips. “Thranduil…” her voice cracked, both from exertion and an overwhelming sense of love for him alone. “You are more than I deserve,  _ guren _ .”

“Once more, darling, I think that statement should be coming from me to you.” He held her, turning in a way that lay her back against the cushions, kicking his boots away before he’d begun to remove his slacks, their lips seemingly connected as one the entire time. Sara’s hands had drifted along his shoulders and chest, tracing over his tightening abdomen, delicate fingers hooking into the hem of his pants and began to inch them from his hips. On instinct, her legs opened as he too kicked those away, looking over his impressive size with a growing knot in her throat. There was the softest sound of skin connecting as the head smacked against his lower abdomen, and though the candle cast minimal light for them, she saw the glimmer of white coalescing at the tip. “My King…” Thranduil’s grin had turned wicked once more, scooping her up as he lay back against the cushions instead. “Get on top of me, Sara.” She froze, eyes widening. Was he really- “Turn yourself so that I may still taste you in entirety, and this will allow you to give me the pleasure you were so insistent upon bestowing.”

Oh…  _ Oh _ . That meant… sixty-nine. She’d never done that in her world before- hell, no one had ever gone down on her, to bring her release, before him. She whimpered, quivering as she moved and got to her feet, but the elvenking kept hold of her hand, ready to catch her in an instant. When she was close enough, he took her hips, coaxing her legs to spread and pulled her where her center was directly over his lips. Thranduil kneaded her thighs and backside, groaning and brought his fingers to drift over her core again. “ _ Hahhh _ …” She jerked, almost falling forward against his frame, but he kept her upright and her gaze landed on his pulsing cock. She’d done this before, she could do it again. At least, that’s what she told herself. Sara took his length into her hand, stroking slow and deep, enough so that he had begun to move his hips in time with her movements, pulling her hips down to delve his tongue inside her. She immediately jolted, squirming uselessly in his iron hold, her strokes against him harder when her lips brushed the head of his cock. 

Though her hand held pressure, her lips were gentle, kissing against the head deeply before wrapping around, drawing a moan from the elvenking. She faltered at first, feeling his fingertips against her sensitive bundle of nerves and whimpered, the sound muffled against his length. She took him in further, intent on moving slow, to continue hearing the sounds of pleasure leave his lips. “Sara…” His call of her name was throaty, almost guttural, and she could have sworn he’d started growling as her head moved again. What she feared in that moment was her gag reflex, and though Thranduil was big enough to cut the air from her lungs, she relished in being able to take him. Sara moved to take him further, feeling his cock stretch her throat and wondered how he would feel when he actually took her The king felt a ripple of pleasure so great he couldn’t resist the way his hips bucked against her hot, wet mouth, and her moans vibrating his shaft only sent him further into bliss. Yet he never faltered against her, instead becoming more aggressive as his fingers and tongue continued to delve between her folds and within her entrance, even drawing a hand back and connecting it against her ass. 

The yelp, muffled around his shaft, brought forth an animalistic growl, and the king’s grip had tightened painfully on her backside. Even so, Sara refused to cease her movements, feeling the tendrils of her fifth orgasm twist within her stomach. Her head moved faster as her cries grew, and Thranduil could feel her walls shivering around his fingers and tongue. “Don’t stop now, princess,” he groaned, trailing one hand along her back. “Let yourself go.” It was all she needed before she shattered again, taking the elvenking completely down her throat as his cock drowned her screams, almost collapsing on top of him. His hips rolled freely, almost fucking her mouth with reckless abandon as her stretched for what felt like an impossible length of time. “ _ Eru, Nan Aear a Geil, Sara! _ ” Swears fell from his lips after his growling moan, half of it in Khuzdul from the pleasure she was bringing him. One more. She needed one more, then he could confidently spill himself down her throat. “ _ Le uivelin, Sara.  _ One more.” 

Her whimper vibrated through his entire being, licking at the pleasure threatening to grow in the pit of his stomach as she gripped his thighs, and for a moment, pulled her head back, continuing to stroke him. He could only imagine the saliva running down her chin as he fucked her hand for an instant. “Y-Yes, my King…” She was rasping, and he knew she desperately needed water, but he also knew she could withstand one more before he would find his pleasure with her final release. As soon as she agreed to his insistence of one more, her mouth was on him again, her cheeks hollowing and stroked him simultaneously. Thranduil renewed his efforts against her apex, briefly licking his lips as to not miss a single drop of the intoxication she so readily gave to him, uncaring who heard either of them. His own growls and moans, though more audible than hers, were still quieted by her tender flesh and knew for certain the sounds were coursing through her like hers were through him. Every flick of his tongue or swiping thrust of his fingers, alternating against her, brought more tears of overstimulation from the princess, but her determination to see him happy prevented her from begging to quit almost as much as his erection was. 

When Sara found her release, despite him fucking her mouth, her throat was much too sore to scream, even muffled. It was broken at best, but the force of it brought the elvenking to come as well, the familiar hot, white ropes painting her throat that she swallowed each and every drop of. She could feel the roar of her name shake the sofa they lay upon, the sound addicting as it shuddered through her. With her connected to his powerful emotions, she could feel his pleasure and release as keen as her own, and it brought forth an unexpected seventh orgasm in the midst of his one. When Thranduil began to settle, she was able to remove her mouth from him, but the girl was sobbing, oversensitive and quaking as falling autumn leaves. He, however, knew the exhaustion she had been overtaken by and effortlessly, shifted her around, bringing her head to his chest. The two were sticking together from the perspiration, and Sara clung to him as her rasping cries shivered through her. “I will forever be mystified at the perfection you carry,  _ meleth-nin. Le melin, Sara, ithildin, guren min gaim lin. Le uivelin. _ ” He continued to murmur his love, in Sindarin and the common tongue, peppering kisses along her damp hair as he shifted. 

At first, she whined, the sound feeble and weak before Thranduil wiped the tears from her eyes, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I will not be far. I’m just getting you some water,  _ meleth _ .” Realization filled her gaze and she nodded, sniffling and shifted to sit herself up. “Not so fast, darling.” But she shook her head that time, clearing her throat. “I can-” she coughed once, wavering in her seat. “I can sit up, but… you’re right… I moved too fast.” Had it not been for the flush from the exertion in her features, Sara would have been the shade of beets, earning a chuckle from him before he found the pitcher, filling a glass of water and returning to her side, bringing her to rest on his lap. She drank almost greedily, to the point she nearly choked as she had earlier, then placed her head on his shoulder as he stroked along the skin of her arms, back and legs. “I love you,” she whispered, throat still stinging. “Is that what I have to look forward to each time you get jealous?” He laughed outright, icy blue glinting with a hint of darkness. “Are you prepared to test that assumption, love?” 

Sara shook her head, too overwhelmed to even  _ think  _ about another orgasm. As it was, her figure felt heavy in its weakened state, knowing now she wasn’t walking for at least the rest of the night- what time was it? Unsure, she was barely aware Thranduil had taken the glass and set it aside, expertly retrieving his cloak from the floor and covered the two of them, shifting so they could lay beside one another. “Rest now,  _ ithildin _ , you’ve endured hours of bliss, you should take time to recover.” He said it so casually, but internally, the princess was reeling. Hours?! They’d gone for  _ hours _ ?! And Thranduil had already collected himself, not even so much as a heavy breath from him in that moment- just what kind of stamina did the elvenking possess?! As if sensing her internal daze, she felt him chuckle against her, running his fingers through her hair as she traced over his chest. “I told you once before when I take you, that you will not leave the chambers for days, did I not?” Her breath shook, peering up at him with wide, exhausted eyes as her lips parted. “I…”

He was right, she remembered him mentioning it when they returned from the battle, which meant what he’d just done was nothing compared to what he was going to do to her later. He smiled knowingly and hummed, tilting her chin up to bring their lips together. “Though I do not doubt most of my halls know who was bringing you pleasure all night. We will announce our courting to the public before the feast’s end,  _ meleth-nin _ , by which time I am hoping my letter has reached your father so we may begin officially.” Though she was terribly close to losing consciousness in his arms, his sincere admittance of wanting to publicly pursue the courtship and to mark it official within all of Middle Earth left her with a few tears running from her eyes. “Thranduil… I… All I could ever ask for is your love, th-that’s all.  _ Guren, meleth-nin _ , I am forever yours.” His embrace had tightened, a blissful, comfortable silence between them, filled with more love than either knew possible, leaving a tender kiss on her head. “As I am yours, Sara.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd had this chapter saved to my drafts to fix when I had a moment, apparently AO3 said no. Anyway, I want to extend my deepest apologies for this chapter taking as long as it has. Home life has been... well, rocky is a bit of an understatement in light of it all, adding to my depression and anxiety. Also hunting for work is insane during these times. But I want to thank you all for your patience, support and understanding. Without you, I don't think I'd have the will to do anything remotely enjoyable. So, here it is, more will definitely be on the way, and I love you all <3 Thank you again guys ^_^


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